Seven Devils
by EchoFallsFromGrace
Summary: Placed within the Game of Thrones landscape, the cast of the past four American Horror Story seasons intertwine as they begin their fight for control of the Iron Throne and Westeros. Seven chapters, warnings inside! (Chapter 1: Violet / Chapter 2: Dandy / Chapter 3: Lana / Chapter 4: Misty / Chapter 5: Hayden / Chapter 6: Madison / Chapter 7: The Battle)
1. What the Water Gave Me

**Chapter 1: What the Water Gave Me**

And the ships are left to rust/That's what the water gave us

 **Headcanoned with an beta-ed by graceonce**

 **Rated M for rape and language and mention of animal cruelty**

 ** _3 Months Before the Battle of Visenya's Hill_**

The wind was cold but the girl was used to it whipping past her salt filled hair, though now it was clean and her strands of dark blonde were smooth and without tangles. She'd tried so long as a child and as a young woman to comb through it but only now, on the mainland, did it comply to her wishes. It was her mother who'd taken care of it the night before, imbibed it with sweet smelling oils and taken good care of it, raking her fingers through it as she talked softly with her daughter. Though she hadn't listened.

She glanced back behind herself, somewhat unsettled at spying her home island off at the horizon, distant rocks, simple cracks in the sky. She pressed her shoe farther into the sand beneath her, it being a different color than the drab one she was used to. It seemed richer, like gold, glinting in the sunlight.

So much sun.

She squinted as she looked up and spied her father standing off the side of their ship, but she looked away quickly, gray eyes flirting back to the hills. She wanted to take the road she could see faintly from where she stood and head south, where it was warm. Now that she'd tasted warmth, she wanted more and only that. The top of her head burned with the intensity of the light above but her coat was still damp, still stiff with salt.

She turned halfway at the hand on her shoulder, fingernails digging into her jacket, and she tried her hardest to mirror her mother's smile but it just wouldn't happen.

She was sneering.

"It's your first time, isn't it."

The girl shrugged. "You tell me."

"It is," the woman began again. She tucked a strand of hair behind the girl's ear despite the way she ducked beneath her touch. "It's a big day, Violet."

"No, it's not. We're not there yet. This isn't where we're stopping."

Lady Greyjoy stared her daughter down. "For you to be on main soil, it is an important day. Your first continent. Aren't you excited at all?"

Violet shrugged again, shoulders raising up to her shoulders and then dropping as far as they could, her hands limp at her sides. "It's just dirt," she finally offered. Her auburn haired mother sighed through her nose but didn't add anything, watching her carefully.

"I guess it is," Vivien tried. Violet turned away, back to scuffing her boots on the golden sands. She listened to the woman walk away and she finally softened, back to squinting at the sun in the sky.

Lord Greyjoy watched his wife approach, his hands on his hips, his chin held high even though it dipped down to anyone who watched. He put her hand over her shoulder once she came to his side and looked down, blue eyes on the ground and ear at the level of her mouth.

"How is she?"

"Less sick than I, for sure." Vivien smiled. "Moody, also. I think she resents us."

"She's the age to. It's alright, she's just new to this sky. Has it changed to you?"

"It's too bright," his lady replied. "It was then, too."

Ben bent down slightly to kiss her on the cheek, his beard scruffing past her skin and she winced lightly but smiled at the token of affection. He passed his hand reassuringly down the slope of her back. "I'll be done here soon. I'll send the ship to cross around Westeros when we leave, they should reach King's Landing when we do, and we'll cross over to Dragonstone then. It's safer this way."

She watched him, blue eyes dim. "Safer?"

The man nodded softly. "Relatively, anyway. I don't trust anyone from Lannisport or the Reach to let us pass so easily if we are a troop strong. I don't trust the riders off the Searoad. Especially not the ones from the dogs' keep." He saw her shiver but didn't move to be closer. "We'll take the Goldroad ourselves, stick to the pavement, all the way to King's Landing. We'll be safe."

"Of course."

They both glanced sideways at Violet, still tiptoeing on the beach. "Travis has gone for the horses. We'll be on our way soon."

Vivien turned, blue eyes scanning the shadows the high walls of Lannisport threw, the ramparts themselves over bared by Casterly Rock, off in the distance. "Good. I can't say I'm fond of this city."

"You haven't even gone in, what would you know?" Violet's parents watched her, Ben's eyebrows were raised, amused. "It's probably beautiful."

"They haven't paid the iron price. It can be beautiful all it wants, it's fake. Smoke and mirrors, sweetheart," he responded. "Smoke and mirrors."

She eyed him almost bitterly. "Are the Targaryens paying the iron price for me? Will blood be shed? Or only mine?"

"That's not the same thing, Violet. A marriage is different," Vivien said quietly. "You know that."

The three turned at the sound of metal shoes on wooden planks, and Ben nodded curtly at the knight approaching them, brown hair flying in the wind. He tugged four horses behind him, two in each hand, all with a bright white coat. They clashed with the gray on his tunic.

"My Lord, your horses."

"Fine steeds, Travis."

The young man bent at the waist, bowing lightly. "Only the best." He smiled at Violet, handing her the reins to the shortest horse, though it still towered above her. "His name's Sugarcube."

"Cute."

He sneered back at her, laughing when she finally cracked a smile.

Her and Vivien watched as the knight and his lord fixed the mounts with their belongings, enough to carry them through their voyage, but light enough that they could ride easily and without problem. Her father hadn't wanted to make a big fuss about their arrival, especially if they were to ride through the Westerlands for so long, flanking the Reach. Only the Crownlands would be kind. The Dragons knew they were coming.

Violet wished she'd brought more to wear, jewels and heavy coats alike, but she didn't own them in the first place. She hadn't paid the price for any of them. She wondered if her arranged husband would care that she wore only shades of grey and that her hair was stiff with sea wind.

She mounted her steed shakily, finding some solace in the rocking of the horse, similar to that of a ship's.

Ben helped his lady onto her own white horse, hands steady at her waist though she pushed him off quickly. She gave him a tight smile. "I can do it myself, my Lord." He nodded back and opened the way with his steed, Ser Travis trailing behind them, Violet left on her own to daydream.

OOOoooOOO

"And your betrothed's name is-?"

Violet glanced sideways at the young knight, gray eyes narrowed at the sudden question. It'd been a few hours and the man hadn't said anything but now he stared evenly at her, smile wide as he waited. "Targaryen?"

Ser Travis laughed heartily, his hand on his thigh as he pushed his horse away from hers, giggles travelling across the wind to the girl as he took a moment to breathe before trailing back to her, knee brushing against her own. "I know he's a dragon, love, we're headed to Dragonstone. What's his first name, I mean?"

"Oh." The girl faced forward, frowning lightly. "Tate."

"That's a nice name. Not as handsome as Travis, but you can't pick your battles." She rolled her eyes and he laughed again, eyes bright. "I'm teasing you. Are you excited?"

"Yes. No." Violet shrugged. "I don't know. I've always known I'd be carted off to some man but I didn't think it'd be so soon," she added, her voice a whisper. The man nodded, eyes on the Greyjoys ahead of him. "What if he's-"

"Mean? Mocking? Smells bad?" He raised his shoulders. "A bath can take care of the last one. Some soap." He paused. "You're a kraken, Lady Violet. Krakens fight back. If he fights, it's for you, not against you. Know that. And if not a bath, then a well placed knife in the dark can fix things right up."

She stared openly at him. "You'd want me to murder my husband? If it got bad enough?"

"I would hope you'd let me, actually."

Violet's eyes moved to her parents and she slowed her horse. The knight at her side did the same. "What do you mean?"

"I've asked your father if I could stay by your side while you're away from Pyke. He's letting me."

"Travis."

"I'm only doing my best to keep you safe, Lady Violet. I hope you won't mind me overstepping my bounds."

"It's-" She paused, eyes falling to her horse's mane. "It's very kind of you. But I don't think I'll need you to murder anyone for me."

He laughed. "Oh, I hope not. I'm sure he's a nice young man. I'm being dramatic. May I hold your flowers at your wedding?"

Violet smirked. "He has a sister."

"Damn." He watched her laugh. "You're prettier when you smile, Lady Violet."

Her blush ran up to her ears. "Thank you. I'm trying."

"It's working." He looked up. "The continent does that, I think, lift spirits? The sun is warmer," he sighed. "I've missed it."

Violet's eyes widened. "Missed it? You've been here before?"

"Of course, fighting wars for your father. And I ran away from my home as a young lad. Younger, anyway."

"But why?"

" _Though All Men Do Despise Us_." He recited, a hand to his heart. "I wasn't well liked. Seven hells, none of house Codd is liked. You learn to run away, then." He began counting on his fingers. "I'm a bastard, my brother's a bastard, my father was one too, so says my mother. I never met him personally. They only gave me the last name because we're all bastards."

Violet wriggled her nose, unable to strike the truth from his words.

"I'm lucky your father liked me when he met me at the Crag, otherwise I'd still be rowing on a ship somewhere, not a knight, and definitely not as well dressed as this," he added, rapping on his chainmail with an armored fist. "I owe him my life."

"Your allegiance," Violet corrected.

"My life."

They fell silent, the horses' hooves sounding on the road beneath them. Violet looked away when Vivien glanced back at them, offering a small smile. She shifted in her saddle, craning her neck and arching her back, pulling out the kinks.

Her voice carried in the darkening sky. "How long will we ride?"

Ben turned to her, his tone teasing. "Tired already?"

"She's unused to a horse between her legs, as any ironborn," Vivien put in. She ignored the look Lord Greyjoy gave her, one eyebrow raised.

He looked to his daughter. "There's an inn past the next hills, but we'll be riding all day tomorrow, I'd like to make it to Deep Den by the week's half."

"It should easily be done, my Lord," Ser Travis said. Violet listened to his speech change as he addressed her father. "We're few and loaded light. We'll be ready to cross to Dragonstone before the end of the week."

"Your timing sounds impeccable," Vivien offered.

He bowed his head. "I studied the ship's map." A quizzical look passed through Lady Greyjoy's blue eyes and she glanced sideways at her husband who shifted on his mount, uneasy. The question went unspoken. _He can read?_

They reached the tavern at nightfall, the heavy oiled candles shining brightly in the windows, and Violet couldn't help the moan that ripped from her throat when she touched ground again, thighs aching and knees threatening to buckle beneath her own weight. She dreaded getting back on the horse, her hateful gaze turned on its eyes as she rounded it. It was her lord father's fault too, she figured, he'd never let her ride before. Her mother helped her into the tavern as she winced with each step she took and they were treated to the best rooms her father's money could buy, the coins traded easily between hands.

She didn't sleep easy that night, even though Travis slept with his back against her door and even though her parents slept in the room across the hall. The winds here in the Westerlands didn't howl like they did on the Iron Islands, the rain didn't fall in a gale. It was all too quiet, and she stared up at the ceiling, mind racing in the absolute silence. She felt trapped.

She considered leaving to take a walk through the moonlit hills surrounding the place, but Travis wouldn't let her. The window was too high off the ground for her to climb down.

So she let her mind wander.

OOOoooOOO

"You're practically sleeping on that poor horse."

Violet grimaced at her mother's voice but she didn't open her eyes, lulled by her mount's steady walk.

"You didn't sleep at all, did you?"

The girl's hazel gray eyes cracked open after a moment and she shook her head, too tired to shy away when Vivien reached over and passed a hand through her soft hair, their steeds' flanks touching.

"I'm afraid you're going to fall off."

"I won't, mom. I won't fall off." Violet gave her reins a sharp tug and she peeled away from Lady Greyjoy's side. "I'm fine. I just had a little trouble falling asleep, but I did sleep."

"Then the voyage is making you weary?"

The girl shrugged. "Sure."

"Would you like to stop?"

"Deep Den isn't far, Travis said. I can make it," Violet muttered.

"Ser Travis said."

Another grimace found its way to the youngest Greyjoy's face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Her mother's blue eyes trailed to the knight's figure riding by her husband's. "You two are quite friendly."

"There's four of us on this 'journey'," Violet spat. "What do you want me to do, talk to father the entire time? Let you braid my hair? The horses are in the way," She snapped the heel of her boot into her mount's side and she pushed ahead a few feet, leaving the woman behind.

And she left her behind that entire day, riding ahead of both her mother and Travis, staying just a hair shy of her father's horse but unwilling to address him too as the terrain turned tortuous. The mounts became slower as the graveled road turned into large, uneven rocks, fallen from the hills and low mountains and left there. She thought she heard her lord father muttering that he would mention the dirty work to whoever owned the place. And she wondered if House Lydden would take it well if he did.

A half hour later they were on foot, pulling the horses along as they trudged between boulders and approached one of the higher hills. Violet could only call it that, Pyke itself had mountains that touched the sky, and here they barely grazed the top of ancestral trees.

But the fortress carved into the rock appearing past a corner was a new sight, and she couldn't help the way her eyes widened at the architecture, the front of the castle burrowed into deep stone. Something she'd never seen.

The door was massive oak and ten feet tall, framed by carved rock that was made to resemble bricks and mortar, but they abruptly ended when the mountain turned. Almost as if the castle had been drawn into the stone.

With a shovel.

For a moment she was puzzled, wondering where the rest of the stronghold could possibly be, but she shook the thought of. If the front was carved, then so was the inside. She wished she was a bird, a falcon, so that her golden eyes could see how far the mountain extended from above, how deep the place could possibly be. She wondered if the inside was bigger than the outside. She wondered if she'd have enough time to explore it all.

Her father strode ahead, gaze up on the top of the wall where guards in green and white and brown stood in the shadows, badger framed flags flying beside them in the wind. He called up and they called back down, voices carrying in the breeze and the gates slowly opened a moment later. It was comfortably warm inside the foyer, fires roaring at the end of the grand hall, and the princess of the Iron Islands wanted so badly to cross over and to put her freezing hands, stiff inside her gloves, against the flames. But she stayed put, Travis flush at her back and her mother at her side as Lord Greyjoy walked to meet Lord Lydden. They shook hands and exchanged quick words, and Ben turned back around and held his arm out.

"My daughter, Violet, and my wife, Vivien."

"You are most welcome, my ladies, to Deep Den." He smiled softly, a light in his kind blue eyes. "She looks quite like you, Lord Greyjoy." Ben beamed back and Violet turned away to sneer at a wall.

"What brings you to the Westerlands?"

"Business," Ben replied easily. Violet turned a little farther.

"Would you sell ships to citizens of the plains?" the lord laughed. "We'd have no use for them."

"No, not ships."

"Livestock," Violet blurted, and she hid behind her hair as Ben whipped his head back to stare her down.

"Your girl isn't a clever liar, you have only your horses and your man there." Lord Lydden pushed away her comment with another easy smile and waved them to the end of the hall, to where a long table stood. He sat at the head and the four krakens sat down the length, Vivien nodding kindly at the servant who passed by to leave drinking horns and wine. "I'll admit that I can't care much about why you're crossing Westeros when you could easily sail around her, as long as no troubles are brought to me or mine."

"A ship for four is rather eccentric." The lie came easily.

"You're a lord, why not be?"

"And the continent is so beautiful during the fall."

Lord Lydden snorted as he reached for the pitcher of wine. "The fall. Fuckin' Starks. Winter is coming for once and I hate it when they're right. You'd think we'd have learned not to ask them by now." He eyed Vivien momentarily. "The fall."

Ben smiled. "The fall."

The lord of Deep Den grunted. "To the Starks." He knocked his cup back as did Travis and Ben, Vivien fingering her own delicately. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "I can't say the mountains hold many sights, ever. How was Lannisport?"

"We didn't enter."

"Smart move. That Lannister bitch is all over the place since she married into the name."

Ben's eyebrows raised. "How is the rest of the family taking that?"

"The ones who haven't been executed have all run. I know the Reynes aren't happy, I'd say they're destitute just for standing up to her, but I would be guessing as to how much they've lost."

"Are they so stupid that they'd try building armies against her? Him?"

"They have. And they've been crushed, their home sacked. They're living on scraps."

"No one would help them?"

"How strong are the Lannisters?"

Ben clicked his tongue.

Lydden spoke lowly. "Of course, I'm not suggesting any ill thoughts towards my reigning lord."

"What ill thoughts?" Lord Greyjoy replied smoothly. Deep Den's lord smiled and laid back in his chair.

"How long will you be staying?"

"Only the night."

"Not enjoying the hills?" The older man shrugged lightly. "The east has prettier forests, I'm sure, the Kingswood is quite a sight," he added. Ben stiffened and he ignored it. "Rooms will be prepared for you, and your horses fed and stabled, then readied for sunrise. I can only guess you're in a hurry to reach your destination." There was a note of question at the last word, but his guests ignored it.

Travis spoke. "The krakens aren't well liked on land."

"You're swimmers," Lord Lydden laughed. "Not walkers." He pointed his finger at the young knight. "Even you, fishy." Travis gazed back and Violet couldn't help the smile that overtook her as the man's confusion grew, as he glanced at Vivien and then at Ben.

Lord Greyjoy stood. "We thank you immensely, my Lord, for your hospitality." Lydden nodded from his seat. "You will be repaid kindly. If you would excuse us, my family is exhausted and-"

"I want to explore."

Eyes turned to watch Violet, and she stared back.

"Explore?" Vivien repeated.

"The castle. May I?"

The lord of Deep Den smiled. "Your child has quite the will, the tongue, and tone. How old is she?"

"Sixteen."

"If only we were that young." He turned back to the girl. "You have free range of the fortress, but for the doors you might find locked."

Violet stood easily and began to walk away and Travis went to stand to follow her, hand already resting on the pommel of his sword.

Vivien held him back. "Let her go."

OOOoooOOO

The princess of the Iron Islands had mused herself into a fitful sleep. Though the walls and ceilings had been impressive, the massive cavity within the rock made her feel claustrophobic. She was used to wind whipping past her face and here, inside Deep Den, no wind shifted through the rooms.

It was deathly silent.

She finally sat up in bed, pushing her pillows back until she could rest on the headboard, and stared up at the ceiling, at the off-putting texture of the cave walls and the dampness that permeated through it. Deep Den was relatively dry, like a badger's nest, but it was still beneath rock. Moisture was inevitable.

She followed a trail of glittering stones with her hazel gray eyes, her gaze flitting through the room, the room she'd been given for the short hours she'd be staying, and she scowled. They were nice, happily padded in Lydden colors and silks she'd only heard of, seen off of trading ships that didn't stay long at Pyke. Not long enough to suggest the selling of the goods. Not to the Ironmen.

In some way, she knew these were the best guest rooms, guest rooms not usually given out to strange riders off of the road. She figured her father's title was what had done it.

There was one king in Westeros, that much was true, but the unity within the seven kingdoms was fragile and had been since the Lannister lion had brought them together under his rule through force and hate and death, and even though all lords, Ben Greyjoy included, had sworn fealty to him on their knees, they all waited for the moment that they could finally break free, jowls salivating at the thought.

Her father was a former king himself, King of the Ironmen and the Iron Islands. Being nice to him in a time of such fragility was only the smartest thing to do, even when he had been brought down to the ground and laughed into submission. He still held power, more power than the lordlings and knights that seemed to plague the countryside.

It'd been before her time though, she'd only ever known the Lion King. She'd only ever known the sea surrounded land she called home, and Westeros, though different, was disappointing her in the material of men and mind. Power was always it. It was like they had none.

She only hoped the Targaryens were stronger.

OOOoooOOO

The weather had considerably turned when they had left the castle behind and, much to her dismay, reminded Violet of home, something she was so desperately trying to forget as they traveled further and further into the continent. Gray clouds extended from horizon to horizon in a sheet of color that echoed the mountain stone that hugged the road, the two melting into each other, sky undecipherable from ground.

Ser Travis whistled as he led his horse, one hand against his saddle's horn and holding an apple and the other holding onto his dagger, the knife slicing into the fruit and raising to his mouth every few moments so he could eat. His movements were calculated, careful, so he would not hurt himself as his mount ambled over gravel and broken rock. He turned to her an hour after they had left, close to finishing nicking through the food, and extended his hand out, raising his eyebrows in silent question. She shook her head and he shrugged, happily finishing it himself and then throwing the core back behind him.

He spoke after he swallowed. "Upset stomach or nervous stomach?"

"I'm not hungry, that's all." She turned in her seat to watch her father and mother ride behind them. "I'm pretty fed up."

He grinned at her, whipping his head lightly so that his hair settled behind his ears again.

"Why would they lie?" Violet asked, grimacing. "About why we're crossing through to Dragonstone? There's not reason to, it's a marriage. It'll be known soon enough. People will be invited, people will talk."

"Because the Targaryens are strong, because your parents are strong. And two strong families can be dangerous to another strong family, can't they?" he replied. "And Lord Lydden has sworn his oath to the Lannisters, as his reigning family."

"So did my father."

"Your father has a sea between him and the Lions, Lord Lydden does not." Travis shook his head. "It's all strategy. Telling Lydden might endanger our journey to King's Landing, he smiles and laughs and share his wine, but a raven and an army is easily sent between hearty giggles."

Violet scowled. "Then why even stop at his home?"

"So that he may know your father if the Kraken Lord ever decides to surge again. A fief will follow if they know you personally. He will remember Lord Greyjoy as kind and his wife and daughter as beautiful." Travis smiled at her. "Strategy, Lady Violet, strategy."

"It's complicated."

"It's an adult's game."

She cast him a warning look, finally scoffing out. "I'm old enough."

Travis spared a glance behind him. "Your father was angry last night. You shouldn't have made that comment about livestock, even if it was well placed at the time." He took a moment to think. "I'm sure Lady Vivien will be mentioning it soon, but you'll have to be careful on what you say within Dragonstone. Your husband is your lord."

"I know," Violet replied.

"Though it makes you furious."

"No man should have to hold me. I am my father's only child, a daughter, an ironborn. The islands will belong to me one day, once my parents have gone, and I will be queen of the Iron Isles." She narrowed her eyes. "And I should kneel? Yield? _Submit_?"

"Before the courts, yes," Travis replied lightly. "But know that a man's strength comes from his wife, do not think that any decision is made without the consent of a woman."

"Would she help him decide on adultery?"

"Sometimes," the knight began gently. "Sometimes a man makes mistakes. That is when you know he did not ask his wife."

"I would decide to leave him. I wouldn't sit there and watch him flirt with the local girls, watch him invite another into his home and watch another leave from his rooms in the morning." She snapped angrily on her reins, the horse doing a half turn so that she could glare openly at her mother, her father, before she straightened back down the road.

"You say that because you're young. You'll fall in love and you'll be blinded to whatever may come your way."

"No, Ser Travis, I'm not some simple peasant girl with only half a mind. I'm not the others," the girl said. "I'm different."

He gave her a light grin. "That you are." She angled away, hiding her sudden smile with a shake of her head, but it quickly faded away.

"Why won't she leave him? Why does she stay?" she asked softly. "After all that's happened?"

"He promised her change."

"You think he'd manage to go through with his word?"

"You don't?"

Violet bit the inside of her cheek, remembering the man would never say a word against his lord, but she pushed on. "He's broken many before. Beginning with his marriage vows." She angled her head towards the dark sky. "I think she's afraid, and that disgusts me. No matter what he may promise, whatever bullshit he may tell her. She's afraid to leave. She's just afraid. But I'm not. I'm stronger than her."

Travis sighed. "She's plenty strong."

OOOoooOOO

The mountains gave way to rolling hills the next day, plentiful trees and grasses and farming men and women, and Violet knew they had reached the north of the Reach from the history lessons she'd received all her life, house Tyrell reigning over the rich brown earth beneath their horses' hooves. But Ben Greyjoy did not bother with sightseeing. He spurred his mount on and the rest of his party trailed after him. Trailed after him all the way to the Blackwater Rush, golden fields turning to oxen grasses and the Reach into the Riverlands.

The river was deep, fast. It looked dangerous and Violet was thankful for the bridge that crossed it, following the road and landing safely on the other side. It rumbled beneath the stone and wood construction, raced like a thousand horses, the storms of the sea confined to a roaring stream. The mounts had no problems crossing over, used to rolling waves beneath their legs, and whatever the danger screaming beneath them,

Violet felt the strength of the sea surging back between her bones. It felt more stable than any ground beneath her feet. She hated thinking of Pyke, but there it was.

The road followed the water's edge, moving from a few meters to a hundred off then back, keeping in a relatively straight line compared to the river's meandering strides.

They'd stopped the night before and had slept beneath the stars, but now as they ambled tiredly, they headed to an inn that Travis had learned about after speaking to the locals, another few miles off. The sun was setting but Ben pushed on and his party could do nothing but follow.

Violet wanted to cry into her stew when they finally sat their backsides on stable benches, but she kept her face stoic as she stared her parents down. They both seemed to ignore her as they ate themselves, Lord Greyjoy heartily and his lady daintily, though she was obviously ravenous.

It didn't take long for her father to speak. "We'll reach the capital tomorrow."

"Do you think the ship will have reached the bay by then?" Travis asked. He threw a bone to a nearby dog and watched it scamper to the scraps.

"If not, we'll stay inside the walls until it has," Ben replied softly. He glanced around furtively, and Travis leaned in. "You did instruct the men to keep the flags down."

"More than once, and in front of you, my Lord, you remember."

"I do." The Kraken Lord chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Good."

"They will know not to, Ben," Vivien said. Her husband nodded again. "Will we stay long before we cross?"

"I don't need my ironborn whoring around with continent sluts," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "The shortest time we spend there, the happier I will be."

His wife bristled openly, then shifted in her chair, her back rod straight.

Violet wondered where his adulteress was from.

"We won't have a look around?" she dared ask.

"What is there to see? The Red Keep? Where our oppressors live and enjoy themselves on the backs of dead ironborn?" Ben replied angrily. "Or perhaps Baelor's Sept, where they follow their false gods."

His daughter squirmed in her seat, anger rising.

"There is nothing to see in King's Landing. It's a city of traitors, of lying cheats and sluts."

 _All that you are_ , she wanted to say.

But it was so much more.

They rode in through the Lion Gate, Ben proud as brass though he had no reason to be. Violet had seen the three highest points from outside the city walls as they'd followed the edge of Blackwater Bay, the Dragonpit, the Red Keep, and closest to them, the Great Sept of Baelor, shining with white marble and crystal in the sun, up on what she knew to be Visenya's Hill. She could feel the contempt her father held for the monument rolling off of him in waves.

Her mother herself, from Westeros, somewhere in the Vale, didn't seem as phased by the building as her father and Travis. She'd followed the New Gods before the Drowned one, and took her mount by the white marble plaza easily. Violet had never asked of her life before the Iron Islands, it didn't seem right to. She'd taken to the ironborn lifestyle so quickly.

Ben slowed his horse and came to their level. "Travis and I will head to the port, look for the ship. We'll be staying in Cobbler's Square until it arrives. Head there." He pointed vaguely to the west. He sneered lightly as his hand was pushed away by a passerby, and he retracted it to run it down the front of his shift. "This city is too crowded. Don't let your horses out of your sight." He glanced up at the ramparts. "And don't let the City Watch tell you anything."

"They're here to help," Violet countered. "That's their job."

Ben glanced back at her, but didn't reply. Vivien tugged on her reins and she was led away from the main road and off to the left, towards the side of the hill they would round.

It was tall, though not as tall as Aegon's High Hill that she could see from where she was, the Red Keep glinting crimson in the harsh sunlight, but it was tall. Here, she knew, many had lost their lives on the Great Sept's stairs after contesting a king or another, though the Faith of the Seven, its septas and septons, cried high and low at the injustice of blood spilled on the marble floors.

The sept's seven bell towers were silent today.

Vivien, having watched her daughter crane her neck back and narrow her eyes at the sun as she squinted upwards, spoke. "They only ring when there's a monumental event. The death of a king, or the marriage of one."

"Then why have them?"

"The Drowned God has the sea, and the Seven have their towers," Vivien replied. "It's a game of highs and lows, there's no reason for it, just different ways of worshiping a deity."

"And the Old Gods?"

Her auburn haired mother cocked her head to the side as she stared off at a point, mulling her thoughts over. "The Old Gods aren't revered as the New ones are, or the Drowned God. They do not require ceremonies, or texts, or speeches. They are just there, in every breath of wind and every leaf. To live is to worship. But I would say the closest thing to a monument, would be a weirwood tree. A heart tree." She nodded her head back to the Red Keep. "They've all been destroyed here in southern Westeros, but for a wood in the Riverlands and one heart tree in the castle gardens, though it is oak."

"A heart tree?"

"A god with a face."

"Did you ever believe in them?" Violet asked softly. "The children of the forest? Their souls in the trees?"

"Sometimes, Violet," Vivien started. "Things happen that only a child in a tree could explain."

OOOoooOOO

Their ship had arrived within the night, and Violet had been ushered onto it by her father frantically. They had taken the short trip across the Blackwater as the dawn had broken over Westeros.

They'd stepped off the wooden deck and onto Dragonstone island with a troop of ironborn at their back, a hundred men strong. The procession was obviously larger, longer, than it had been when they'd been four to travel through Westeros, and Violet felt immodest with so many marching behind her and her family, Ser Travis at their head.

Though the young knight was on horseback, the rest of the men were infantry, used to waves beneath their feet and if not water, dirt, and they walked at a steady cadence to his calls.

Ben's steed paved the way with Vivien at his side, and Violet followed lightly behind, unwanting a conversation to be started. Her fingers shook lightly in her gloves as she tightened her hold on her reins. She could only see the top of spires rising from the forest covered craggled rock, the top of the keep, but she was worried.

There, beneath the crow infested skies, was her future.

They moved through the woods, following the way that found itself rising in altitude. They'd come in on the wrong side of the island to appease any suspicions, though their banners had not been flown during the way across the bay, and so they trudged through forests some seldom saw, hidden by the sharp mountains, but the trees here were charred black and dead from the soil they rested in. Black spires ran into the sky but she couldn't see to what they belonged, she'd been below deck when they'd passed the island's keep. She had no idea what to expect, and when they crossed into a clearing a hundred meters long, the roadway leading to the back gates of the castle, she bit back a gasp.

Dragonstone was a fortress unlike anything the young kraken had ever seen, and it wore its name well. Every inch, every rampart, every rock, was carved ornately into hellish hounds, gargoyles, and reptilian creatures. On every level, every corner, the winged beasts stared down with pitch black eyes on their pitch black bodies, melting into the onyx stone they inhabited. Spines, snouts, tails. Violet couldn't help but be amazed at the sight.

She had to tilt her head back all the way to see the top of the keep from where she was, and in the clouds she could see two towers, both shaped into dragons. One screamed out at the heavens, the other watched the stormy sea, almost as if pensive, and she could spy the tip of a tail belonging to a third colossus in between the trees framing the outer forests.

She stared at the castle walls, barely noticing when Travis pushed her forward lightly, and she went to step forward, barely missing a root beneath her boot. The knight grabbed her arm beneath her elbow and began to guide her, throwing her a reassuring smile from above her, though it quickly turned into an grimace, as if he was apologizing for the darkened state of the place.

The keep seemed to bother him, but it fascinated Violet.

The castle's gate had been brought up and beneath it stood a myriad of people, the ones at the head of the crowd with their heads high and the ones behind with their eyes on the floor in what must have been respect.

Maybe it was fear.

At the front was an older blonde, older than the Kraken Lord, with her wavy hair up on her head and attached by a lilac clip, one that just didn't match her dark eyes. To her left stood a young man, a mop of curly sun kissed hair shielding the sun from his black eyes, and the rather bored look on his face seemed to mirror his mother's, for he could only be the woman's son. To his side was a girl, shorter than Violet yet she seemed older than her brother, and Violet stared. Her eyes were too far apart, her nose pushed back, and though her smile was wide, it bothered her. She wasn't natural.

But what was next to her made Violet's blood run ice cold. It was grotesque, this thing that seemed to be a boy, but it stared from beneath a heavy brow as it stood hunched over from a bad back, his hands against his chest.

Violet looked away. Targaryens had purple eyes, yet this woman did not, and neither did the children surrounding her, surely from her own womb. But there was no mistaking they were the dragon lords. And some seemed to resemble their reptile compatriots more than others.

The Greyjoys finished their walk up to the gate, and Ben bowed lightly from the waist up as Vivien curtsied, the side of her dress within her fist. The Targaryen mother did the same, and after a quick nudge at her blond son, the rest of the family bowed, the servants so low that they could have been kissing the ground.

"Lady Targaryen, my wife, Vivien, and my daughter, Violet Greyjoy." Ben reached back to wave his hand over to Violet, and Travis pushed her forward until she took his fingers in hers, curtsying. "We thank you for accepting us into your home."

"And our name." The woman smiled back, laughing lightly. Lord Greyjoy could only nod. "My son, Tate Targaryen, his sister Adelaide, and their brother, Beauregard."

Violet wanted to glance at the siblings, but she had only eyes for the so named Tate, who she knew to be her betrothed. He gazed back, black eyes almost as dark as Dragonstone's walls, and suddenly he smiled softly, dimples showing by his eyes as he rolled them good-naturedly. And she found herself grinning back and looking away.

She didn't want anyone to think she was anything but horrified.

She peeked at the blond, but he was watching her father intently, back rigid, and she took the opportunity and a long moment to gaze him over as Lord Greyjoy spoke with Lady Targaryen of things she didn't care about.

He was taller than her, as most young men were, but not so much that it would be uncomfortable if she stood by him properly. He looked fit, his black oriented red jacket tight on him, and she guessed that as oldest of his generation, he had been trained in the art of combat, of horseback riding.

He glanced furtively at her and she stared back, fighting the blush that ran up her neck, Travis's words echoing in the back of her head. She was an equal. She had not to look down.

There was that smile again, oddly reassuring.

He suddenly spoke and Violet found herself hanging onto his every word, the light musical tint in his voice. "Mother, may I give it to her now?"

Adelaide voiced herself too, clapping. "Oh yes, mother!"

Constance Targaryen shot both her children a well-placed look, her lips pursed, and she turned back to Ben with a light smile. "This might be inopportune, but if you would entertain my kids-?"

He took a step back and sweeped his arm out in acknowledgement. She nodded sharply at a servant behind her and he left through the gate, headed to what seemed to be a guard tower. Tate gave Violet a reassuring smile as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, almost as if he were nervous.

"I would have thought you wanted to wait, Tate," Constance said, breaking the silence that had fallen on the two parties, standing beneath the walls of Dragonstone.

"I like her."

Vivien glanced sideways at the boy, surprised, if not annoyed. but she kept her words to herself. And Violet blushed hard.

There was a horrible howl followed by short shrieks and yaps, and the Greyjoys turned to watch a creature being dragged down the steps and out into the courtyard, dragged into the way. It spat in rapid succession at the pavement, little balls of fire as it struggled with the chain around its neck, and Tate went to take the rein, cooing at the dragon. It was no bigger than a dog, but its talons and horned head were sharp.

"Lady Violet." Tate glanced at her, smiling broadly. "This is for you. Take her as a token of my affection, and as a wedding present."

Travis stared the reptile down, his fingers tight on the pommel of his sword, but he didn't try and stop Violet as she stepped forward. She put her hand out and the dragon crowed, frills passing in waves as it gazed up at her.

"She's beautiful," she finally breathed. "Thank you."

Tate leaned in to speak to her, voice loud enough for only the girl to hear. "I had her bred black for you. I had guessed right, you're not like other girls."

"Perhaps you would like to step into the keep and out of this weather, a feast has been prepared as to your arrival, we would be honored to have you as our guests," Constance suggested. Ben bowed and allowed her to lead the way. He took Vivien's arms in hers and Travis shadowed them, leaving Violet to Tate.

He held out his hand, and she flushed as she took his fingers.

The dragons weren't as terrifying as they'd been made out to be. And neither were the beasts.

OOOoooOOO

The halls had been made up with the brightest of lights, wax dripping down onto the floors in pretty patterns, something her mother would have never stood for.

But here in Dragonstone, it fit the entire look the Targaryens surely strived for.

The candles had been hitched into dragon mouths, the translucent waste falling down between their sharp teeth, the reptiles coming out of the walls in cadence down the halls, encircling them as they walked to the keep's great room. The castle's inside itself was sleek, reflective, made of dragonglass and bouncing off any light thrown upon it.

Sharp blades of the precious stone came down from the creatures' maws, and the biggest sat at the end of the way where a dragon roared at them, it's mouth open in a constant grin and leading to wide wooden doors already thrown open. Its neck ran up into the ceiling, its sharp taloned paws against the walls.

Violet entered the hall, and she entered the dragon's stomach.

Tate let her arm go momentarily to take her hand instead, letting her climb up the wooden dais so that she could sit down first, and he smiled as she sat daintily, worried that she'd make a fool of herself in front of him or his family. He took a seat to her left, and Adelaide to her right as the older men and woman to the middle of the table. Violet shifted beneath the room's gazes, the entirety of the hall having stood to bow to them as they entered, waiting for Constance's little nod before they could sit. They were at least three hundred, lordlings and their wives, men-at-arms, merchants.

A dragon yowled and she glanced to the side to find her own gift nipping at other creatures, all around the same size, though hers was still young. She knew they had once been creatures bigger than mountains, swifter than the winds themselves, but now they could barely reach a horse's shoulder. They were mutated bastards.

She bit back the thought that her new family members were too.

It was horrible of her to think of such things while inside their home, but she couldn't quite ignore the well-known inbreeding the Targaryens partook in as they tried to keep their bloodline pure. She'd been surprised when she'd been engaged to their oldest boy, thinking he'd have married his sister or a cousin, distant if it was a must. Perhaps Adelaide was barren, like mules were. Perhaps Tate had had a say in his marital status.

But she quite liked the keep, its dark edges, and she thought she'd be comfortable if they were to inherit the place. When.

She wondered if their marriage contract could be undone.

A dozen roasted boars were brought out, and she heard Ben ask if it'd been cooked by the Targaryen pets, heard the laughter that erupted on that side of the room, though Constance's smile turned into a light grimace, the corner of her lip dipping down.

"For the wedding," Tate began, waving his empty fork vaguely. "We'll have every fish, every bird, a lizard-lion-"

"Lizard-lion?" she echoed.

He leaned in. "They're bigger than a crocodile, their teeth sharper. We had to go all the way to the Neck to find one."

She nodded slowly.

"They're revered over there, but here they can be a delicacy." He gave her a wide smile. "It all depends who's on top, right?" His eyes narrowed and he looked Violet over. "Do krakens exist?"

"Only in the depths," she replied. "But I don't think they'd be any good."

"I would guess they taste like overgrown squid. A little watery."

They shared a light laugh and he reached for a plate that he placed in front of her. "Hunted yesterday."

"By you?"

"Of course," he replied, his chest puffing out lightly. "I brought down two myself, they were barelling towards me and-" he mimed holding a crossbow, " _Pap pap_. Two arrows." He shrugged. "I would have used more but then that ruins the meat, the skin. Leather doesn't hold up well with holes." He smiled when Violet giggled and turned to hide behind her hair, trying to find her light frown again.

But this boy, this wavy blond haired boy, somehow understood her. They hadn't spoken much, or at all, but there was a sense of peace around him, as if he knew what he wanted and how to get it, something she greatly so admired as she lived within such a tempestuous house. She wanted to drop her head onto his shoulder and exhale and never leave his space again. She'd have been happy turned to stone, there in the dragon's belly. She didn't know what it was about him that did it.

He gave her the last morsel of boar from the plate, happily sliding the silverware over to her, watching her finish it off with his black eyes. "You're probably tired," he said.

"A little," she admitted. "It's been a long week."

"It must have been!" He stood. "Mother will be taking care of the preparations for our wedding, so for the next few days, we can get to know each other, and you won't have to worry about anything." He leaned in. "We can hide from our parents."

She sighed out. "That sounds amazing."

Tate took her hand. "Tomorrow, the true festivities start."

OOOoooOOO

"Violet? Violet!"

The girl winced as she heard her mother's voice ring out, and she turned lightly to give the Targaryen boy across from her a grimace, one that he easily mirrored. She jutted her chin out, motioning at the door, and he quickly raised himself from where he'd been sitting on the floor to cross to it, to hide behind it.

It was thrown open a moment later by her hurried mother, the woman's gaze finding hers. "Violet, I've been calling you," she sighed, exasperated.

"I heard."

Vivien threw her a cautionary look as she walked to the edge of the girl's bed. "I need you to try on your dress now, Lady Targaryen had it made especially for you in your colors, you won't want to upset her by not wearing it."

"I won't wear one of my own?"

"Not to your wedding, no. We're far from the Iron islands, we have to make friends in these parts. Now go, fetch your shoes."

Violet did as she was told, though she took a moment to grunt. "I won't make friends out of a dress."

Lady Greyjoy shook her head lightly but gave her a smile. "Come," she urged. She walked away to wait for her in the hall, and Violet took a moment to throw Tate a look as she left the room too, one that he answered and winked for.

"I'll see you later," he mouthed.

She nodded back and followed her mother down farther into the keep. The dress the Targaryen mother had had done was black with golden trimmings (real gold, her mother had said) and she couldn't help but think that it matched both her and Tate, the onyx a link between them. It fit her nicely, hugged her waist and the top of her ribs, but flowed well around her legs and shoulders. It reminded her slightly of what she'd seen the women of the Reach wear when they'd passed through, with its open collar and long sleeves

Vivien passed her hands over and down her shoulder blades, gazing at her daughter in the mirror as the ladies-in-waiting finally left the room, bowing low before closing the door behind them. "The dragon red will fit very nicely with this."

"I'm sure it was designed that way."

"I have a present for you," Lady Greyjoy said softly. Violet's hazel eyes met hers and she frowned lightly, following her as she moved back behind her. She waited when her reflection left the mirror, shifting her toes in her shoes. Vivien reappeared and she lifted her arms over her daughter's head to drape a heavy necklace around the girl's neck, successfully covering most of the skin that the dress had left to thin air.

"Mom-"

"It's nice, isn't it?" Vivien murmured. "It was mine when I was young. I never showed it to your father, I didn't pay the iron price for it. But I think this marriage constitutes you doing so."

Violet raked her eyes down to her chest and lifted her hands to press the pads of her fingers to the silver and gold jewelry. The links were meshed together like a spider web, but it wasn't as well versed as a spider's work. "What does it represent?" she asked softly.

"My home. Individual mountains," her mother replied. "You can't tell, but if you ever see them, you'll know which one is which. If Tate asks, just say it's Pyke's rocks."

The two shared a smile and Violet sighed lightly. "Thank you."

OOOoooOOO

"He sounds pretty rough, your god."

The Greyjoy girl laughed lightly as she leaned back against the tower wall. Tate had saved her from her father. He'd been walking down the halls with her at her back, talking with that voice he used when he tried so hard to lay down the law to his own family, but she'd been trudging behind moodily, ignoring his words. She couldn't say now what he'd been trying to get across. She'd yelped lightly when a hand had wrapped around her mouth and another around her waist, but the palm against her lips had muffled her noise, and Tate had laughed breathlessly in her ear as he'd tugged her back and down another hallway.

He'd brought her up to Sea Dragon tower, marched her through the galleries and past the rookery on their way up and up and up. He'd pointed down a dark hallway and shushed her with a finger to his mouth, but Violet had taken a moment to look down it. Gargoyles framed it, and at the far end she could make out stairs and a large metal gate. Voices echoed down against the stone but she knew they were far away.

"What's down there?"

He'd shushed her again and pulled her up another flight of stairs, only looking back at her once they'd reached a landing. "The chamber of the painted table. It's where they hold meetings."

"They?"

He'd shrugged, but suddenly his dark eyes had become shiny. "I wish I could show you the table. It's fifty feet long, it's a map of Westeros, the entirety of it."

She thought back on it now as she looked up at the dark sky, the wind buffeting around them. "I guess he does," she said softly. "But so are yours. The Stranger is scary."

"I like the Stranger," Tate replied. He moved to sit closer to her, their knees now touching. "He's-" the boy paused, mulling over his words. "He reminds me of me."

Violet glanced sideways at him.

"Dark and mysterious," the dragon added. They shared a laugh once he grinned, the Greyjoy following his steps. He sobered. "Explain him to me, your Drowned God."

"He's ruler of all the seas." Violet smiled. "He made us ironborn in his image, strong and leaders and born to sail. He brought us flame, Tate. He tames the seas for us."

"And when they're rough?" Tate asked, grinning.

"Then He's quarreling with the Storm God."

"It sounds complicated, to believe that this god of yours did all that by himself," the boy said. He leaned back onto his hands, shoulders up to his ears as he shrugged. "At least ours are seven. They easily parted the jobs between themselves."

The Greyjoy peered at him but finally shook her head. "What would you say of the Old Gods?"

"Lazy."

Violet barked out a laugh and his grin widened. He seemed glad to find her happy, sporting something that wasn't a frown.

"Tate?"

"Yeah."

She let her voice die off in the wind as she spoke, the air buffeting around them and whipping their hair this way and that, and he leaned in to hear her properly. "Can I ask you something, something personal?"

"If you couldn't, what kind of couple would we be?"

Violet nodded softly, but looked away as she continued. "What's wrong with them? Your siblings?"

"Oh." Tate pressed back against the wall. "Inbreeding, Vi." She glanced at him at her nickname. "It's been a long while since we've been doing it, my ancestors wanted to keep the blood line pure, but it comes with a price. My father died very young because of it, and it's why my mother wouldn't dare marry me to Addie now. She wants an heir to survive so that the Targaryen name lives on."

"You were going to marry Adelaide?" Violet echoed, eyes wide.

"My father was my uncle," he replied, smiling. She nodded, somewhat confused. "But there's nothing wrong with her, except that perhaps she's a little eccentric. As for Beauregard, it's all physical. He's quite smart."

"I didn't think he wasn't-!"

"I know his appearance can be frightful, so don't worry. It was a natural reaction of you to ask." Tate looked away. "Most don't. Most just think what they think. They assume, when they don't know shit."

"I get that."

He turned to her, hope shining in his dark eyes. "You do?"

"Yeah. I'm not my parents, you know?"

The Targaryen boy nodded sagely, biting on the inside of his cheek as he mulled his thoughts over. He glanced sideways at her again, little gazes that she wondered at as they sat silently but didn't ask about, knowing he's speak if he wanted to, when he wanted to. He threaded his fingers with hers and dropped his head to the side to bump his forehead into hers, and suddenly his lips were against hers, rough yet sweet and she pushed into the kiss, though she had no idea how to do it.

He fumbled with her too and it lifted her heart a little.

OOOoooOOO

Violet couldn't help but notice that little looks Travis gave around the room when she arrived at the hall for dinner. It reminded her of the ones she gave Tate now, little glances thrown sideways that had her blushing and him biting the inside of his cheek, both their mouths burning with the taste of each other from hours before.

She wondered who the knight had kissed recently.

She took the seat next to the young man and nudged his knee from underneath the table, grabbing his attention from whoever it was he stared at, and she smiled at him knowingly.

Travis blushed and turned away. "Stop staring."

"Who is it?" the girl whispered. "You can tell me."

"Are we sharing stories now?" he asked back. "No, this concerns old men and salt wives."

"I'm to be married, surely you can say." She shrugged. "I'm going to be a salt wife soon enough."

"A dragon wife. A fire wife," he corrected.

"If you're going to be staying at Dragonstone with me, you can't go around falling in love with whores and keeping their names from me!"

"She's not a whore!" Travis replied hotly. "She's-she's just not a whore, Lady Violet. Forgive me for my yelling."

"Don't watch yourself around me, you know that," she snapped. She fell back into her chair, annoyed that the man beside her wouldn't give up his piece.

It didn't take long for him to talk.

He squirmed lightly in his seat before leaning into her side. "I don't think she likes me as much as I do her, in any case. I'm afraid to be just a diversion."

She grinned. "Maybe you're not."

"Maybe," he grimaced.

"Did you kiss her then?"

"I, yes." The man blushed deeply and shifted back into his seat. "It was nice."

"Nice?" Violet echoed. "Is that it? You know you won't go very far if you say things like that. She's a lady, you've got to sweep her off her feet. 'It was nice' won't get you very far."

Travis glanced sideways at her. "Since when are you romantic?"

"I'm more romantic than _you_."

The knight looked her over and he began to mirror the bit back grin she wore. His eyebrows raised into his hairline as she began to scowl at him, and she bared her teeth.

"Don't."

"I wouldn't dare, Lady Greyjoy." He let out a little hum as Violet fell back a little farther into her chair. She began to pick at the side of her mouth, where Tate had left his last kiss, and she knew she was turning a darker shade as she noticed Travis doing the same to his own lips. She figured they both looked like idiots, the both of them not touching their food and with their fingers to their faces.

"What's her name?" she asked gently.

He shook his head vehemently. "The island is big, my lady, but not that big. I won't tell."

"For your sake or hers?"

"Hers."

"You're a good man, Ser Travis," she sighed.

He nodded gratefully at her and they both fell back to silence, picking around their plates aimlessly.

She braved a smile when her mother and her father came in, Vivien's arm draped over her husband's and her head held a tad high as they walked to the dais. They were a little late and she thought she heard Lady Constance mention it to them, and she knew from the angry red color on her lord father's neck that they'd just fought. If it was verbal or physical, she wasn't sure.

She met Tate's gaze, the inside of her ribcage feeling as if it was about to burst and it bothered her that she didn't exactly know why, but she knew she wanted to be seated next to him. She knew she wanted to have her parents and the dragon lady disappear in a cloud of red tainted smoke, the crowd too, so that it would only be her and the blond boy. She ripped her eyes away from him, suddenly feeling breathless from the intensity of his own black stare.

Violet drunk too much, about as much as her mother was drinking, their horns refilled every time they touched dry bottom, and when Vivien threw her a cautionary glance she raised her eyebrows back.

Her mother ignored her then.

The wine filled her belly with warmth and made her forget about the distance between her and her future lord husband and if she'd been closer to him she'd have leaned her head on his shoulder to close her eyes, the drink mellowing them both to sleep.

It was suddenly too loud in the belly of the beast and she stood, noticing the candles had burned low and that Ser Travis was long gone, chair pushed away from the table, and that she was dangerously tittering in her heels. She turned to excuse herself at her father's side, and he nodded to her, barely glancing at her.

The walk towards the hall's door was long and she fought to stay upright, and she was glad she didn't feel like throwing up. The black walls helped her keep her on her feet in the suddenly silent hallway, and she took her time walking back to her room, passing by a couple too busy connecting their lips and running their hands up and down each other's frames to notice her.

The kraken girl fell into bed, groaning at the light headache that sunk in behind her eyes and not caring enough to untie her corset, and she smiled to herself as she felt sleep coursing through her veins, running alongside the drink.

She suddenly sat up seconds later, confused and awfully sober, thinking of the man and woman she's seen kissing at the bottom of the stairs. She thought the wine had warped her vision, her senses, but no.

She had seen Ser Travis kissing Lady Constance.

OOOoooOOO

"And then you wipe it underneath your eye, too."

The kraken was holding coal between her fingers, watching Adelaide's reflection in the mirror on the ornate desk. She'd been dragged to the girl's bedroom by the excited lady herself, Addie had wanted Violet to see the dress she'd wear for the wedding, and the Greyjoy hadn't been able to refuse when she'd been asked her to help her with her makeup, Addie wanted to look like a girl from Dorne.

Violet hadn't had the heart to tell her she had no idea what Dornish girls looked like.

The door opened behind them and Tate appeared, his golden grin a reprieve for his wife-to-be, and Adelaide matched both their smiles.

"What do you think, Tate? Do I look good?" she asked.

"Do the other eye and you'll be the eighth of the Seven."

Adelaide giggled and he laughed back, taking a moment to kiss Violet on the cheek. He broke away to pass his fingers over the shape of his sister's dress.

"Is this what you'll be wearing for the wedding, Addie?"

"Do you like it? Mother helped me pick it out."

"I love it." Tate glanced sideways at Violet. "Can I see yours?"

"I don't think you're supposed to see your wife's dress before the wedding," she teased back.

He shrugged. "You won't wear it for long, anyway."

A heavy blush ran up Violet's neck and she tore her gaze away from the boy's amused gaze. She fought to change the subject. "Do you know what I saw the other night?"

"No, will you tell?"

She leaned back on the desk's edge with a grin like a cat who'd gotten the cream and she looked him over smugly as he raised an eyebrow, waiting. "I saw Ser Travis and your mother kissing the other night."

"Oh, that's alright," he replied cheerily. "My mother's always sucking men's cock. She once sucked a guy off from the Twins, you know? I don't think you can fall any lower than the Twins."

"And here I thought you'd be surprised!"

"She's not a septa," he laughed.

"And no one said she was sucking his cock," She added. She fought her skin turning pink at the use of the word. "Only that they were kissing. Ser Travis is a good man, I wouldn't want his heart broken."

"She might use him for a few months, his heart won't break right away. But she'll do it so that he still pines after her, she's good at that. That man from the Twins, we get messages from him every moon." Tate shrugged. "She burns them."

"Tate!"

The two abruptly turned to Adelaide, finding her annoyed and she reached for her brother's hands.

"You're getting blood all over my dress-!"

The Greyjoy girl's mouth fell open, she hadn't quite realized that the Targaryen boy's fingers were coated in red from nail to elbow. He shied away sheepishly, hiding his arms behind his back.

"You were out hunting again!" Addie scolded. "You know you're not supposed to without permission!"

"Don't tell mother, I'll go clean up. I have something to do, anyway," Tate said as he glanced around. He leaned in and kissed Violet quickly. "I'll be back before the end of the night." He nodded at Adelaide and left, taking the time to close the door behind him.

Violet handed Addie the coal when she asked and reached for it, eyes still trained on the door.

"What kind of hunting does he prefer, Addie? I didn't think there'd be much game on this island."

"There's not," the girl said easily. "He likes hunting cats."

OOOoooOOO

Violet, though night had fallen and Tate had left her room long ago, had stayed up and had her ear to her bedroom door, listening to two krakens' voices echoing down the hallways. Her parents hadn't even bothered to reach their room before they'd started yelling at each other. What had marked her the most was her mother's harsh whispers of _I don't think this is right, Ben, something's wrong here. And if you don't cancel the marriage, I'm taking Violet home myself._

She wondered what was wrong, what had happened to make her mother sound so shrill and ready to leave in the night and what had made her father yell back that there was no going back. The Iron Islands hadn't burned from what she knew, wouldn't let itself be taken so easily, and she herself was comfortable here at Dragonstone. She hadn't heard of anything happening to any of the kraken wearing men. What had annoyed her mother so?

Their footsteps receded and she could hear their bedroom door open, but one pair kept on going, the heavier set, and she knew her father had passed the corner, not following her mother inside and out of the hallway.

Violet waited a tense moment before opening her door and slipping out, her bare feet padding on the stone floor. She moved silently, not knowing where her father truly was and not wanting to meet him in the darkness, and sighed lightly when she reached their bedroom door, hand reaching up to knock on it.

But she refrained.

There was noise from inside and it puzzled her, she thought she'd been sure Vivien was alone. No one was allowed in their room.

Her eyes widened when she heard a muffled scream and she took a step back from the door, staring at it as if it'd just growled, and she suddenly felt vulnerable. But another scream snapped her out of her fear induced trance.

She burst into the room and bit back a scream.

Someone, _something_ , lay over Vivien, its hand over the woman's mouth as he thrust in and out of her, tears streaming down her face as she managed to turn to look at Violet, pleading silently. He wore only black, black trousers and a black coat and a black cowl over his face. The man suddenly turned to stare Violet down, his movements stopping though he stayed buried in Lady Greyjoy, and he tilted his head to the side slowly. Violet began to scream, her _Father_!s quickly turning into _Dad_!s and _Daddy_!s as she backed into the wall, and what scared her the most was the way the man didn't seem to flinch or blink or care at all. He pulled out of Vivien and took the seconds it took to press his finger to his lips at Violet.

There was a shout from outside but the black wearing man stayed another moment to gaze the youngest Greyjoy down, eyes as black as hell itself, before he leapt through the window.

OOOoooOOO

"I swear to you, father! I swear to you!"

Ben Greyjoy turned sharply to watch his daughter as he continued to pace back and forth in front of the chair he'd sat her on hours prior, his eyes steeled and his jaw set. "Do you?"

"Why would I lie about this?" she cried back. "Why would I lie about what I saw? About what happened?"

Her father sneered, but there was no joy behind the gesture. "You realize we only have your word on this? You realize that while your mother sits in bed, unable to answer any question we ask of her, you sit out here proclaiming the the wildest accusations?"

"Why wouldn't you believe me? Why would I make this up!" Violet yelled back. "She was raped, dad! I saw it happen with my own eyes and when she decides to answer you she'll tell you the exact same thing! She's in shock!"

Ben stabbed a finger at her. "You shut your mouth! Do you realize where you stand? Would you like to be the one to tell our host that one of her men did this? If it happened at all?"

"Your wife, my mother, was raped and-"

"So you say! Why should I believe you? Don't act like you haven't been a pain in the ass since we announced this marriage to you. All you've done since we left the islands is complain and bite and snark at the both of us. This could be your sick revenge."

"Dad!"

He came to stand flush to her, voice no louder than a harsh whisper and his blue eyes menacing. "You keep your mouth shut around the Targaryens until your mother feels well enough to tell us what's happened. You are _not_ ruining this for us."

"Don't you mean 'don't ruin this for me?'?" Violet growled. " You seem so quick to push away any blame, just like last time. Why did she want to leave so badly? I heard you two yelling, what happened? Did she disagree with you and you thought sending someone to off her was a good idea until it went wrong? What aren't you telling me!"

" _Violet_!"

The girl let out an exasperated yell and stood, her chair scraping back and falling over as she stomped out of the room.

Ben didn't try to stop her.

She ran straight to Tate's room, knowing he wouldn't shut the door on her and knowing he'd listen and believe her. He'd heard Vivien hadn't left her room that morning, asking about her at breakfast, but the Greyjoys had kindly ignored him. Now, Violet wouldn't. She figured that if they were to be married, he'd at least act like he cared.

He held her tight for as long as she asked, her head in the crook of his neck as she breathed raggedly, anger coursing through her veins at her father only to be replaced momentarily with guilt for her mother.

"Ser Travis'll let me see her in an hour or so, he said she needed rest and to be alone but he hasn't left the room."

"Protection from nightmares, most likely."

"It wasn't a nightmare, Tate, not if we both had it." She closed her eyes. "He was so…He stank of evil, Tate. The way he walked and breathed and what he did."

"I believe you."

She extracted herself from his grip to look into his eyes. "You do?"

"Of course." He smiled as he lifted his hand to tug at a strand of her hair. "Why wouldn't I? The world isn't perfect, not even here at Dragonstone. These things happen, as horrible as they are."

"I need her to be better before we get married, Tate," Violet murmured. "You understand that, right?"

He glanced at her, alarmed. "We can't change the date, Violet," he pleaded. "Everyone's come to see us, some for only a day. We can't let them down."

"My-"

"I swear to you we'll take care of her, I swear to you, Violet, but marriage first. Marriage first and then we'll take the utmost care of your mother. I realize four days isn't long but you have to trust me"

"You promise?"

"Of course. She'll be safe now that I know," he said softly.

"Don't tell anyone, please, father would have my head if he knew I'd told. Don't tell your mother."

He shrugged. "She's probably too busy with your Ser Travis, like she has been since she met him. I don't talk much to her, anyway." The tip of his thumb pressed against her lips and he leaned in to kiss her lightly. "It'll be alright, Violet. We'll be married tomorrow, and I'll take care of everything."

OOOoooOOO

"Your father thinks I'm trying to take you home, that I'm making this up, but we both saw it, right? That man? I didn't have a bad dream like he's suggested?"

Violet blinked, her chin where she'd placed it against scratchy covers, looking towards Vivien who sat with her back to her bed's headboard. She'd woken and asked for her daughter almost straight away, but Violet had had to wait a half an hour before her father had let her in as he spoke to her himself. He hadn't looked to her when he'd left, only grunted at her to go in.

"I'm questioning my sanity now, mom." The girl looked away as she fought back tears. "He was very real."

"I was afraid he was," Vivien sighed out. It unnerved Violet how dead she looked, how unaffected she seemed, when she knew inside her mother screamed and cried more than she had herself.

The younger kraken spoke softly. "Why are you trying to take me home, mom? Why would he think you'd stoop so low to take me back?"

Set eyes met hers and she shifted, knees smarting from kneeling on the floor too long, and Vivien beckoned her up to her. She laid against the covers, playing with the fur there, as she was tugged up into an awkward embrace.

"The Targaryens-" Vivien paused. "They're not any good for you, Violet. I wasn't on board with this in the first place but I wasn't sure why, now I know my gut feeling was right."

"Tate is incredibly nice," Violet protested lightly. "I know they've got, I know they've got family sicknesses but that shouldn't stop them from trying to change, right? Why should we ostracize them?"

"Oh Seven Gods, Violet, I don't mean Adelaide's, or even Beauregard's, afflictions, I would never," her mother said. "They're greedy, just bizarre. I don't trust Constance."

"She's not the one I'm marrying."

"Violet, why wouldn't your father tell her of what's happened?"

The girl fell silent as she ducked her head away from Vivien's probing gaze.

"I don't want you married."

"It's tomorrow, mother. I can't say no now. There'd be no way to protect ourselves if I did. If they're as bizarre as you say, they'd attack, wouldn't they?"

"You grew up too fast."

Violet spared her mother a look, an angry flush running up her neck.

"I'll have this fixed, I swear. Tate and I," she said softly. "I'm sorry, I should let you get some sleep-"

"Stay, Violet. Let me have you to myself one last night, even if its in these circumstances."

OOOoooOOO

The black she-dragon snapped angrily at her own chains and Violet tugged her back, wincing lightly when a hiss was thrown her way. She knew the creature would never dare bite her but she still jumped at every sound, every flame, the thing produced.

Though her fire had been doused that morning.

They stood on one of the island's rocky shores, knee deep in a foaming sea warmer than the one she was used to, watching as an old man called out to the skies. Violet hadn't even known that a drowned man had come to Dragonstone with the rest of the krakens, but it didn't surprise her too much, Ben loved asking his clergymen for advice.

But it was Tate who'd asked to be ritualized into the Drowned God's halls, wanting to feel closer to his future wife.

He'd waded to water chest deep and stripped down to nothing but his underwear, Violet wanting to rather look into the sun than at him, getting the same reaction in both cases. He stood next to the man, his head tilted up as the priest angled his own down.

"Kneel, Tate Targaryen. Kneel and be ready to join fire and brimstone and sea foam."

The blond haired heir did as he was told, hands to his chest as he gritted his teeth against the cold waves.

The man picked at the skin at his side, full of sea water from Pyke, and upended it slowly over Tate, wetting his hair down. "Let Tate of house Targaryen, your servant, be born again from the sea, as you were. Bless him with salt, bless him with stone, bless him with steel."

"What is dead may never die," Tate recited, voice strong.

"What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger."

The drowned man pressed his hands to Tate's head and pushed him down until he held him beneath the crashing surf. From where she was, Violet could see him thrash lightly. She'd told him he would be held long underneath it but he'd brushed it off, now she figured he regretted not listening. They waited almost five minutes before he gave up, arms floating back to the surface. He was dragged back out onto the beach, rocks leaving red marks along his skin, and the drowned man bent over him to breathe life back onto him.

It didn't take long for Tate to sit up and stutter out sea water, his lungs begging for air as he coughed wildly before falling back onto his spine.

Violet looked up when Ben draped his arm over her shoulder, his pride rolling off in waves.

"Now he's a man worthy of you."

"He was before." She pulled away from him and walked down the slope to meet the Targaryen. He looked up at her from where he was, black eyes bright as he smiled and reached out for the edge of her dress.

"What is dead may never die," he said softly.

He'd changed into his wedding garb and met her again at Dragonstone, taking her hand in his as he looked up at the ramparts. She knew Ben would take her moments from then to get her ready, the dress she'd wear tightened around her waist by a lady-in-waiting, but for now she admired Tate's own clothes.

His coat was blood red (and in the back of her mind she thought it slightly resembled the blood he'd been covered with hours before), dotted with vines of black and his trousers themselves colored like the midnight sky, his boots with crimson laces.

She wondered if, like the gold on her own dress, he wore rubies on his chest.

Her father dragged her away minutes later, Tate taking the time to kiss her temple beneath Lord Greyjoy's critical gaze before he did.

The wedding would be in Aegon's Garden, beneath the dragon's tail and between sweet smelling trees. From her tower window she could already see the place being filled with guests she herself hadn't had a choice on inviting, all little lords. No honorable family would have dared go to an ironborn wedding, and especially not when dragons were involved.

She'd thought she'd spied the Castamere flag on one of the ships in the harbor but she knew they had none anymore. They didn't have much of anything.

Her mother had managed to rise out of bed for the occasion and now stood behind her, fixing her hair for her, this supple mess of softness she was far from used to but that she herself had grown up with in the Vale. They didn't speak, only worked diligently to be ready for when the sun was high in the noon sky. Violet didn't know what to say in any case and instead gazed at her own reflection in the warped mirror. She had to admit to herself that for once she felt good taking care of herself. Ben would have hated to hear her say it, her, a true ironborn. She wanted to laugh now, thinking of Constance and all her jewels.

A soft song played when she walked out, the sun cold enough that it didn't leave her hot and gasping for breath in the black cloth she wore. But the sight of Tate waiting for her at the edge of the garden had her flushing.

OOOoooOOO

The ceremony had left place to the feast, a thing so big it extended past the hall's doors, the tables running out into the hallways, all full.

The Targaryen matriarch shifted her chair closer to the Kraken Lord's, his wife having long since gone to bed and her and his child at the middle of the table and too wrapped up in each other to pay attention. She gave him a smile paired with her usual predatory look, her chin hidden behind her hand as she leaned in. "Have you, my Lord, heard of the Lannister father? The Lannister king of Westeros?"

"Not since we weren't invited to his last wedding," Ben replied shortly. "An insult, if you ask me."

"The new wife is obsessed with money, she always has been." Constance waved her hand vaguely. "She wouldn't have spent it on guests, now would she?" She fell back into her chair. "No, you have not heard then."

"Heard what?" he asked, slightly annoyed. He moved to make some space between them.

"He died."

Ben paused, hand frozen above the table as he'd reached for his cup of wine, and he struggled to stay calm, his heart beating in his chest. "He did?" he asked, trying to stay uninterested though his mind ran with the possibilities already. "And?"

"And so the iron throne is crown less, Lord Greyjoy. Fiona Lannister isn't strong enough to keep it for herself, with her family in Highgarden and her new last name simply bought through the means of a ceremony. Her mistress is a simple sellsword. I expect the stags to be at King's Landing's doors in a fortnight, asking to be let in and on the throne."

"What should I care for this information?" he replied bitterly. "You would not expect me to bend the knee to this new woman? To help her and send my armies? We ironborn do not bend the knee."

"Oh," Constance laughed lightly. "You mistake me, my Lord." She glanced sideways at Tate and Violet, the two sharing a soft conversation with their heads bent over a plate. "No, you and I may have bigger plans."

He looked at her for a long moment. "What would you suggest?"

"A future." She shrugged. "One in which the dragon and the kraken sit on the throne and rule the seven kingdoms."

He followed her gaze to the young couple.

"How does that future look to you, Lord Greyjoy?"

"Bright."


	2. What Kind of Man

**Headcanoned with an beta-ed by graceonce**

 **Rated M for language.**

 ** _8 Months Before the Battle of Visenya's Hill_**

He was bored.

So incredibly bored.

He let out a long sigh punctuated with a grunt at the end to mark how bored he truly was but no one seemed to notice, not his guards or his servants. And that annoyed him more than bored him. At least it was a new emotion.

He sat up in his chair and smacked the palm of his hand down onto his armrest, the marble cold even through his sleeve. "I'm bored," he called out.

The group in front of him paused in the middle of what they'd been doing, two dwarves, a pig, and a man so skinny he could have fit in a tiny box, and they stared. They glanced between each other, shifting awkwardly beneath the young man's grey eyes. He stood up and pressed his fists to his hips, pushing his chest out. He watched their greedy little eyes run up and down his fine cloak and garments, the stripes on his shirt the newest fashion in the free cities, where they were not, and he tugged on his belt lightly to show off the jeweled hilt to his sword. He wished now it was Valyrian steel, but it wasn't like they would notice the difference. He took the time to wonder why he showed it off to them in any case and he made a mental note to ask his blacksmith for a new weapon, longer, larger, deadlier. Maybe the greed in their eyes would be turned to fear then.

"I need new slaves," he finally announced to the quasi empty room. "Because I'm bored." There it was, the fear he so wanted and craved in their eyes.

"We can try something else, sir," the thin man said softly, carefully. He twisted himself around to a standing position, a proper one. "We can make a new act."

"No, no it's too late for that, I think. You won't have my attention again. Guards? Please escort them out."

One dwarf stood from where he'd been sitting with his animal. "Sir, you said we wouldn't be fed unless we finished the act-"

"I know."

"Can't we finish it?"

The man stomped his foot on the floor. "No. Leave." The three were hauled to their feet by the guards that'd stepped forward and dragged out, the pig squealing in one's arms as it tried to heave itself out of the grip around its middle.

He watched them go with a frown. This was no good. He earned money from his slaves and from the shows he put on with them, the ones he himself orchestrated, but if he was bored with his own property then the crowds would be, and then he would be destitute.

It was dramatic, he would certainly not be destitute if he lost his show, only without pull at the Hall. And he did not want that. And he didn't want to lose his show either. It was his guilty pleasure, after all.

He stomped his foot again. "Mother!" He marched down the short stairs of his day room and crossed into the hallway, headed for the solar. "Mother mother _mother_!" His last call was ended with a small jump on the marble tiles. He half-skipped into the room, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Mother, I've just put the old fools away, and I need new ones."

Gloria Mott looked up, slightly taken aback at the sudden barge into her room as she finished a point in her tapestry, but she managed a small smile and a little 'Oh' as she shook her head. "Again, Dandy?"

"Yes, mother, again." He sat himself down across from her, dragging a chair to the middle of the room. "And so I need new fools. I'm bored."

"My sweet boy, you so easily are," she sighed lightly before tilting her head up in thought. "Have you thought of the market?"

"I went last week, mother, there was nothing good. There never is," he complained. He threw his head back as he slumped into his chair. "No. The slavers need to find new stocks." He stomped his foot lightly. "Dwarves are boring."

"Would you be willing to hear some fantastic news, then?" Gloria began with a light song in her voice. "A ship from the free cities was seen dropping anchor earlier today, and you and I both know that illegal slaves are of the best quality, never used."

"Did one really?"

"I had it proven. You know how quickly rumors fly, but this one seems to be true," his mother replied.

"This is brilliant." Dandy suddenly stood, smiling widely. "Genius and God sent!" He leaned down to kiss his mother on the forehead. "Surely if I ask-"

"Oh, but not tonight, Dandy, stay in." She said softly. "Stay to eat dinner with me, I'm so lonely without you. And the sun will be falling soon."

He cast a long look outside the glassless windows at the light high up in the sky. With it being summer it wouldn't set until the gods themselves decided it to. "Mother, I have plenty of time."

"Stay in, Dandy. I'll have the old slaves brought in, the ones you haven't used in a while, the ones you've forgotten we have. Surely they will make you happy, if you do not remember their faces. Perhaps a name? Do you remember old Goran, the one who taught you the songs you used to sing to me? Maybe you can use him."

He grimaced lightly. "Yes." A time when he had wanted to follow in the man's steps, before the weight of his deceased father's responsibilities as a Thirteen to the city had fallen on his shoulders. Responsibilities he rather enjoyed, ruling and trading lives. Sometimes he dreamed of singing again, of playing before a crowd, but they were only dreams. He was an owner now, not a player.

"He's too old, mother. I can't use him. No one cares for songs. The city wants thrills, they want something to stare at, something they will truly pay for. Anyone can sing."

"Only for tonight, Dandy, as a diversion. Stay."

He let out a defeated sigh and sat back down, splaying his legs out as he looked up at the ceiling. "What has Dora prepared then? You know I don't particularly like her cooking." He frowned. "Or her."

"Surely something good, Dandy, I told her you might eat with me."

"How did you know I would?"

"I frequently ask her to."

The young man blew air through his lips. "I wish I had dragons."

Gloria's hands fell into her lap and she sighed, annoyance daring to crawl into her voice. "Dandy, don't talk about work now. Or at dinner. I want to hear none of it while you're with me."

He let his head fall back with a groan.

OOOoooOOO

The mansion he owned, or rather that his mother owned but that would go to him when she died, was a grand old thing in the middle of Qarth. White walls, marble floors, large windows where the sun could shine through and up on a hill, somewhere everyone could see their riches. Somewhere everyone could only guess the amount of gold the Motts hoarded in their treasures.

His title as a Pureborn was enough to make others salivate, no matter the house and no matter the money. He walked down the short steps with a gait in his walk from his porch to his garden, lush and vast and with shade enough to stop the Essos sun from burning his tender skin.

He strolled to the markets, whistling lightly as he did, and he let his eyes rake over the low buildings and tents not far from the port, a cooling sea breeze shifting through his hair. There was a new shop, a large tent hastily put up with some type of class, though Dandy couldn't have been sure from where, of if it was even class or shabby modernism. He sniffed lightly as he passed it, bent on ignoring it, but he heard laughter. Something that was new here in the slave markets.

He turned on his heel, whistling lightly as he moved back to the boutique, the tent, and there he finally noticed the man leaning on one of the wooden posts, overlooking the rest of the shops. The man perked as he watched Dandy make his way back to his lot and he straightened and waved his hand over frantically, excitedly.

This man wasn't from Essos, his skin was too light and his mustache was years late when it came to fashion in Qarth. His clothes were old, worn, but clean and white washed. They fit awkwardly, and it was obvious they were not his but a loan so that he could fit into the crowds around him. Dandy nodded easily at him and tried to peek into the tent, but his view was blocked.

"Welcome to my freaky, _freaky_ , emporium." The man bowed lightly, a certain smile tugging at his lips, and he looked the short ways up into Dandy's eyes, his gaze raking over the young man's form before settling there.

"Freaky emporium?" Dandy echoed, raising his eyebrow.

"It's hot out in this sun, would you perhaps enjoy a fresh drink? I have wine from the Arbor."

The young Mott shifted on the balls of his feet but nodded, feeling rather parched after all. The tent's flap was pushed aside and he walked into the dimly lit circle of a room. It was bigger than he had expected and partitioned from the middle down so that whatever the man sold could not be seen, and it irked him slightly.

"Here, here, good sir," the man said, pulling him to a low table. "Whatever you wish for is yours." He glanced over Dandy. "You look like a lover of the finer things, and I have the finer things."

"What is your name, seller?"

The man shrugged lightly as he poured dark wine into two bronze cups, handing one to Dandy. "Stanley."

"Is that all? Just Stanley?"

He smiled. "Just Stanley."

"What do you have to sell that could possibly explain this waste of my time then, Stanley?"

"A little birdy told me on the wings of the wind," the man said as he shifted his weight. "That you were looking for new acts."

"Your birds would be correct," Dandy sniffed. "But know that if I find them, I will shoot them down."

"Fair enough. But surely I can help with your little issue," Stanley replied. "It shouldn't be hard."

"You wouldn't know of my tastes."

"No, no, believe me. Come." Stanley waved him over as he walked to the flaps within the tent. He threw it open and tugged Dandy into the room, and the young man gasped.

There, in the center and sitting on the chair, was a legless woman.

"Suzy, say hello to this fine gentleman."

The woman nodded tightly but looked away quickly, leaving her body, or what there was of it, to Dandy's staring. He rounded her, looking for the trick Stanley looked like he could have come up with, but could find none. This woman was quite literally without legs. Her waist ended in a stump.

"Amazing," he breathed.

"Quite so. I have more."

Dandy looked up, suddenly feeling giddy. "You do?"

Stanley smiled. "A whole panoply."

OOOoooOOO

He had from the man and out of his large range of choices bought a blonde slave who though she hid it, held herself up by wooden legs and the occasional support of a wall, a chair. She hid it well, the stumps. Of course he had known right away, she'd come at half price compared to the usual woman at her age. She was fit, at least there was that. But she was a leader, and with her and her contract came other freaks like her, a whole crew of them that she herself had bought before being found out as no more than a run away slave and being brought back to justice, and in an hour he'd doubled his show's talents. He had left Elsa Mars to run the less exciting train of thoughts that the show begged for, and he gained all that was to offer. It was a good buy, this woman.

With her had come a myriad of slaves then, each more interesting than the rest. None had last names, of course. They were bought, they had need for none.

Though Elsa held the center stage at his theater on the edge of the city, she had her men and women run the foundations. Ethel, the fat, bearded one, took care of the show's smooth sailing, the transitions between each act that had men and women roaring with laughter, no matter their status, while her son (he'd come at the quarter of a price, basically useless because of his three clawed fingers on each hand), Jimmy, took the money, or tried to, that he was given by the show-goers.

He'd paid what he'd have given for a simple meal at a tavern for the fortune teller, Esmeralda. She was pretty, and she might bring in money at a brothel, but no one would pay more than a few copper coins. She was better sweeping floors.

But what had caught his eye, or both of them, were the twins. The conjoined twins. Something he'd only ever seen in animals that died days after their birth. The left head called herself Dot, the right Bette, and though they shared the same body in what could only be a miracle of life itself, they were nothing alike. But Dandy liked them both. He'd paid a little more for them, the seller had been reluctant to let them go.

He whistled lightly as he entered his theater, the arcs above him letting the sunlight into the portico and enlightening his steps. Stairs on either of his sides went up to the steps that circled around the half arena, but he ignored them and walked through the wooden door, the metal hot, and into the sanded scene.

He'd wanted to change the floors to something more sturdy, something one wouldn't sink into, but blood wasn't rare in a show, and the sand soaked up the red liquid better. It cleaned better. He didn't want collateral damage on a marble floor he had done.

Jimmy, the boy with a sea creature's limbs, was already in the middle of the scene, looking up at the steps and narrowing his eyes beneath the hot sun. He was pointing up at the steps, calling to one of the helping hands. Dandy strolled over to him, taking a moment to watch where he was waving his mutilated hands at, but he couldn't tell what he was doing.

"Elsa asked, sir," Jimmy suddenly said, not waiting to be prompted by his new owner. He knew from the short hours he'd spent already with the man that he was quick to anger. "She wants the stage moved upwards, so that we can fit more stuff in the back. The basement ain't enough."

Dandy nodded. He listened to the boy's accent, still after the last few days trying to figure out where it was from, and still without an answer.

"We'll be done before showtime, though," the boy added. He reached easily for the pouch at his side and took a long drink, but only after asking Dandy silently if he wanted some, and water dribbled down his chin. "Hopefully the heat will go down by then, Eve didn't do so well last night."

"She won't be in, tonight," Dandy said. He clapped Jimmy on the back with a strong hand. "You'll be in the pit today." He grinned. The young man swallowed heavily but nodded.

The pit.

The basilisks.

Jimmy had already seen a helping hand being torn to shreds by the venomous lizards, the things as big as mastiffs, and he knew for sure he didn't want to meet them face to face. They loved heat, moved easily in it, fluidly. He prayed now that the sun hid behind rare clouds so that the beasts' muscles stiffened. Then, maybe, he would have a chance to live.

At least the crowds were excited when the time came, they shook the stands and roared and called his name as he was pushed into the arena, staring up the fifteen foot walls. The gate at his back rattled open, the old metal creaking as it rose, rust shaking off in flakes, and he turned slowly to watch golden eyes stare back.

Three reptiles walked slowly into the arena, flexing in the warm sun and letting their frills expand as they hissed.

The boy tightened his grip on the spear he'd gratefully been given, but began to run as soon as the basilisks lunged for him, maws open wide. He beat one back, but the other two knocked into his legs and he struggled to remain standing, a cold sweat overtaking him as his courage disappeared. A large tail swiped at his feet.

Jimmy gasped out as he fell backwards, his head snapping against the ground, and he took a moment to taste the blood in his mouth and to let the world spin around him. He sat up painfully, eyes widening as he watched one of the things scramble to him from a dozen feet off, and grabbed for the spear he'd let go, yelling as he stood and began to run to the edge of the arena.

"Help me up!" he yelled. "Help me up!"

Eve stared him down, glancing around helplessly as she looked for something to hoist him with, but Dandy was suddenly at her side and Jimmy's hopes faltered.

"Entertain them, Jimmy!" he called. "One of you has to die, you know how it works!"

The young man let out a curse as he skidded sideways on the sand, the basilisk running into the wall behind him a moment later. It came at him again, hissing and snapping its maws, and he thrust his spear at it, yowling, as if it would help his aim or the force behind it.

"Please, sir, let him out," Eve begged. Dandy shook his head, grinning as he leaned over the side of the railing to see Jimmy better. The stands erupted in cheers as the boy tripped and caught himself, fending off another creature.

Dandy scowled, his name being called, and he came back to the safe side of the wall to watch Ethel running up the short stand steps and to his side, out of air, framed by Meep and Paul and other freaks he hadn't bothered to learn the names of. "What?"

"Sir, I'll do anything, I beg of you don't let him die in there!" the woman pleaded, grabbing onto his robes. He bristled and pulled away. "Please, please I'll give you anything you want-"

"Oh, shut up!" Dandy yelled, stomping his foot down. "You're ruining everything! You're ruining my fun!" He grabbed at one of his slaves and pushed him towards the steps. "Fetch a rope!"

It was thrown into the arena a short minute later, and Jimmy was scrambling up it, the basilisks ripping at his calves, his knees. Eve reached down and helped him as best as she could, Ethel throwing him a hand too and Paul doing as best as he could.

The boy fell onto the stands, the crowds roaring around him as he cried out in short pants. "Thank you-!" Jimmy finally burst out, breath heaving out as he looked up. "Thank you sir, gods thank you-"

Dandy was scowling, the veins in his neck bulging. His hand fastened on Meep's cloak and he threw the little man over the side.

OOOoooOO

She'd buried the boy along with the others, looking down at his mangled body in the grave they'd dug him outside the city walls.

It'd taken almost ten minutes to wrangle the basilisks off of Meep, their jaws catching on limbs whenever someone dared to reach in close to grab at the slave. He'd screamed and screamed and then he'd stopped. Eve'd been the one to carry him out, the crowds long gone and his arm ripped from his socket, threatening to drag on the ground as he trailed blood. And she'd been the one to keep her composure at the funeral, or what they'd called the half hour they'd taken underneath the sweltering sun to dig him into the ground, far enough where the vultures wouldn't dig him out. At least Dandy had given them that time.

Elsa, in a show of solidarity, had given them the night off after having decided to push off their duties until the morning. Though she herself hadn't joined them at the dinner tables, choosing instead to hole herself up in her private tent.

Eve's arm was prodded and she looked up into Jimmy Darling's face, the boy's cheeks blotchy with dried tears and his chin wavering lightly.

"Pass me something."

She watched him with a light frown, taking a second to glance over his shoulder at the somber faces the other troupe members held onto, themselves hidden far in the drink.

"Jimmy, I don't know," the gargantuan woman said softly.

"Ah, shaddap," the young man groaned. "Just do it, Eve."

She passed him a tankard of brown ale and he stared into it with glassy eyes for a moment before downing it easily. "Are you alright?"

"Do you think I'm alright?" he grouched back. "Do you think anyone is alright? This man, this boy, was with us for years and now he's dead, all because we were bought by some-!" his voice dropped to a harsh whisper, as did his backside into his seat as he'd raised with his words. "-By some crazy person who'd rather see us all dead than let his arena empty out."

"He's a business man. And you're a slave. So am I, and so was Meep. You can't change that," Eve said softly. She shook her head. "He'd have died anyway, you know that. He wasn't healthy, wasn't as strong as the rest of us. The heat would have killed him."

"Why couldn't I change that?" Jimmy snapped back. "I could."

"No. You can't." She stood to her full height and he craned his neck back until he could stare up at her, frowning quizzically as she grabbed for his drink. "You've had enough."

"I've barely started-!" he protested.

"You'd started before you came in. You're spewing nonsense. Go to bed, Jimmy, you need it. Sleep it off."

He pushed back angrily from the table, ignoring the gazes turned to him as he let out an angry curse at the woman and stomped away, steps unsure. He didn't go to his tent like he'd been asked to, instead deciding to wander around the arena where, hours prior, he'd almost died and where his friend _had_ died.

The boy turned abruptly, arms swinging low, at a noise off in a corner, somewhere behind a column, and he hollered shortly.

"Get outta there, show yourself! I ain't in the mood for no games."

There was a scuffle, two voices whispering angrily at each other, and he watched with blurry eyes the figure come out of the shadows.

"Oh, hey girls," he slurred, head down. "Sorry about yelling, I'm not in a great mood. I'm grieving, you know?"

"With alcohol, Jimmy?"

He looked up into the Siamese twins' right gaze, the girl's eyebrows together in worry and confusion, her voice soft and sweet. He shrugged angrily.

"You don't usually drink," Bette added. The twins stepped forward as one, their hands reaching out for him but he stepped back, steps unsure.

"Maybe we should just leave him," Dot said, her scowl hard. "He doesn't want our help."

"I don't _need_ help!" Jimmy snapped back.

The two shared a black gaze between them, Bette suppliant in her expressions but Dot unforgiving in hers, and the boy let his head fall, knowing none spoke to the harder headed girl like he had and was left unscathed.

Save for her sister.

He sat in the sand, his head lolling forward as he fought to stay upright. Bette twisted her fingers into the top of their skirt, tugging and pulling at it and Dot reached over to slap her hand away angrily, Jimmy watching from beneath them, hand against his temple.

"I don't need help," he repeated softly. "I'm fine."

"You're not and it's understandable, what you're feeling?" Bette shook her head. "You know you can talk to us, we've been in the same troupe for how many years now? You helped us when we first arrived, let us help you now."

"He doesn't want help," Dot put in, teeth gritted. Bette glanced at her and dropped her gaze.

"You two weren't at his funeral," the boy muttered. "Do you not care?"

"We're not one for goodbyes, you know that. You knew that when you buried Meliane."

He looked up, past them and into the night sky, mouth open. "It was a sea burial for her. What a gal. She drifted right off. Her tail helped her until the end."

"Maggie told us." Bette nodded.

"Not that we'd asked her anything," Dot muttered.

Jimmy turned his usually sharp gaze on her, eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything.

They stood by him for a few more minutes, awkwardly shifting their weight as he slowly turned his eyes back to the sky, murmuring to himself as they fought inwardly themselves.

Dot turned away sharply from looking at her sister, silently fuming. "We have to go, Dandy'll want us. We told him we were just stepping out for some air."

Jimmy scoffed, shoulders by his ears. "Still screwing the guy, huh?"

"He paid for us, Jimmy," Bette whispered. "And he treats us well."

"Until he treats you like Meep."

"Stop it," Dot hissed. "He was angry, that's all. You make him angry, we don't."

"I forgot, you're his _favorites_."

"You're piss sorry when you're drunk, Jimmy Darling," the left head replied. "To think I liked you all those years ago."

"Get off my back," he growled.

"Get off of yours."

The twins turned on their heel and stomped away, leaving him in the middle of the arena alone.

OOOoooOOO

"He's just taking it hard, he'll be fine," Maggie Esmeralda sighed. She held her hand out and a pipe was passed to her. She took a heavy lungful, sighing out again with the smoke, and waved her playing card laden hand vaguely at the Siamese twins. "He always is in the end, after he's fucked a cartload and drunken himself into a coma."

"What a charming thought," Dot deadpanned.

"I don't see why you care," the blonde said. "Gimme a card, Paul." She grimaced at her new hand. "You two dated him, it didn't work. You're not responsible for him. Hell, you're as responsible for him as I am, and I don't give two shits about him." She threw a card down, eyebrows raised. "And I gave him three years of my life."

"We all make mistakes," Paul said from beside her. "I'm folding."

"Says the married man," Maggie replied. "Already? R'hllor almighty. Salty, give your cards already."

The pinhead laughed as he threw his cards at her, and she groaned.

"I'm ten gold poorer," she announced. "I knew Desiree shouldn't have taught you how to bluff." She turned back to the twins. "Look, all I'm saying is that you live your life and he lives his." She narrowed her eyes. "You don't still love him, do you?"

"I don't think I ever did," Bette said softly. She glanced sideways at Dot and her sister bristled, avoiding her gaze.

"He's not good news, Dot," Maggie murmured.

"When you're a whore, nobody is," Dot spit back. They stood abruptly, Bette biting her lower lip apologetically, and walked away from the playing table.

Esmeralda dropped her new hand and marched after them, grabbing onto Bette's elbow and pausing them long enough to link her arm with the softer of the two girls. "I know we had our differences before," she finally said. "I know we fought and I know we...well I know I wasn't very nice to you when it came to him, but you know you can talk to me, right?" Bette nodded but Dot ignored her, trying to quicken their pace. "I'm there for you."

"What do you care?" Dot asked, nose flaring.

"Girls, freaks, have to stick together, don't they?" Maggie smiled sadly.

"Where's your second head? Are you hiding it somewhere?"

Bette gave a soft "hey" with her frown, pouting at her sister, but Dot ignored her once more.

The blonde looked away, sighing in the unusually cold night. "We've talked about this."

"You don't have to get naked to make your life," the left head growled. "You don't have to show anything you don't want to, your entire being is completely normal until you decide it not to be." She glanced quickly at her sister. "We literally cannot hide."

"And if I don't, then I'll be done in worse than you," Maggie muttered. "You know why I hide in my tent, why I eat alone. There's something alluring about a girl with two heads, or two girls with one body. There's nothing cute about a vampyhr."

Dot sneered, but had nothing to say.

"You're not a monster," Bette said gently. She tightened her hold on the girl's arm around hers.

"But we are?" Dot demanded.

"Don't be that way," her sister pleaded.

"All she has to do is sit in her tent all day and avoid the sun, in the dark what do we look like? A two headed girl hiding!" She ripped Maggie away from her sister forcefully. "You sit beneath your pretty little umbrellas and people just think you're a little spoiled but they ignore it because you're still so pretty!"

"You weren't forced to stand in the blistering sun for hours on end as a child until your skin broke in a million places and your scars themselves bled!" Maggie yelled back. "You say I'm so fucking pretty but I was forced to wear a mask when I performed so that I could look somewhat normal, so my parents wouldn't get in trouble back in Braavos! Do you want to see the rest of me? _Do you_?" She scrambled for the back of her shirt, tugging it over her head with such intensity that she had troubles getting out of it. She stood before the twins, bare chested and her skin raised in boils from collarbone to navel, angry welts that hung in clumps on her skin, some parts of her skin completely fair while others were marred until she looked like coral itself. "Fucking stare then!"

"Put your shirt back on."

"Why aren't you staring?" Maggie demanded. She followed the girls as they turned away from her, a blush running up Bette's chest. "Are you too scared now? Am I monstrous enough?"

"Have you no shame?" Dot snapped back.

The girl laughed incredulously. "Shame! You speak of shame! People pay you to find out if your body has two vaginas and you speak of shame?" She pushed the twins lightly, her hand against Bette's shoulder. "I lie like I breathe and I take customers' money for it, I spin them pretty tales of love and fame and riches and I get _paid_ for it, do you think I have no shame? Or maybe you'd like me to speak about how I led people to their deaths for assassination contracts when I was younger? How I lured them with a bat of my eyelashes? Don't think that because we don't run in the same circles that I have no shame, you don't define the word for me."

Dot went to speak but Bette stopped her with a light noise, her fingers reaching for her sister's balled up fist. She gave her a pleading look, grimacing along with it, and Dot blew air out of her nose in response, dark eyes on the girl.

"Let go of my arm," she finally growled.

Maggie did as she was told, nails raking down her skin as she backed away. "I'm sorry." She reached for her fallen shirt, taking a moment to pull it back over her head, flushed.

"We are too," Bette said quickly. "We shouldn't have. We know you're just trying to help, don't we Dorothy?" Her sister sneered, teeth bared and a remark on her tip of her tongue for the girl, but she fought it.

She glanced at Bette. "Don't call me Dorothy."

"Dorothy?" Maggie echoed. "Your name is Dorothy?" The anger had dissipated from the blonde's hazel eyes and she was now smiling lightly, teeth showing with her awe.

Dot turned to watch her, eyes narrowed. "And your name is really Maggie Esmeralda?"

Maggie shook her head. "It's a stage name." She shifted her weight and looked away. "Sorry about yelling, I, I don't usually."

The right head nodded tightly. "Sorry about attacking you."

"Do you-" The blonde sighed. "Would you like to get dinner with me? I'd feel better about this."

"We are a little hungry," Bette said softly. She glanced at Dot, smiling hopefully. "It'd make you feel better too, right? It'd make her feel better," she assured the girl. Maggie nodded and took Dot's arm in hers, sighing as she leaned her forehead on her shoulder.

"You really don't have to touch me," Dot sniffed.

"Do you really mind?"

"You're letting go as soon we walk into that bar."

Maggie smiled and leaned back against her.

OOOoooOOO

"Mother?"

Gloria Mott looked up, lightly surprised at the sudden scowl her son wore, and she smiled lightly. "What is it, dearest?"

"Tell me I don't have to go to the meeting today," he replied. He took on a pleading look. "Please, mother."

"You have to attend to your duties, Dandy darling," she soothed back. "If you don't take of our family, our assets, who will?" She stood to face him, letting the sewing she'd been working on drop into her chair, and placed her hands around his jaw. "You're the man of the house now, aren't you, Dandy? Haven't you been?"

"Yes, mother," he replied. "I just get so annoyed having to sit there and listen and-" He groaned, looking away. "Those men dare question my authority, as if my father had not been one of the Thirteen before me."

"Is today a decision day?"

"Gods no, just news," he responded. "Which is even more boring. I'll have to sit there and listen and I'll yawn. I'd rather stay in, or go to the arena, there I can enjoy my belongings." He ignored his mother's light grimace when she tried to hide it.

He fitted himself into his best robes, though the council of the Thirteen were the richest men in Qarth, descendants of the deposed King of Qarth himself (save for the warlock envoy), they tried hard to appear just as rich as they claimed to be, and as owner of the chair of the Slave King he had had skulls molded out of gold and silver and precious gems, little ones attached to his belt from chains of forged metal.

Most recently he'd had a ring done in the same fashion, this one with conjoined heads.

He walked into the council chamber where thirteen thrones sat in a semi circle and he took his seat, finding half of them already taken, the Silk King, the Copper King...The young man sneered as he shifted in his throne but they only had to wait a dozen minutes for the rest of the council to come in from the heat and into the cool stone room.

The first man was from Astapor, each month he came to speak of his Unsullied but the city had no need for them, not with her high ramparts and the desert surrounding her. He was sent away easily, bowing as he swore he would come back. The warlock at the end of the line laughed lightly, his giggles wheezed out of a thin throat.

They were spared from Braavos's banker, this month free of loans as Dandy himself had sold enough slaves to build with money from the vaults and not from someone else's pockets, and for that the twelve others were grateful.

The Westerosi was rare, his coming was bi-yearly as he served as spy for all of Slaver's Bay, but Ser Angus stood before them, his grin as wide as his outstretched hands as he bowed and greeted them.

"You are early," the Copper King announced, his back rigid.

"As I am," the black man replied. He gave them a charming smile and Dandy couldn't help but give it back. "I come with news from King's Landing."

"What should we care of the Westerosi capital?" the Bronze King murmured. "The Lannister King is dead, the seven bells have tolled."

The Silk King leaned forward in his seat. "And who rules the seven kingdoms the bells tolled for?"

"His wife."

The Thirteen fell back in their thrones, all amused and Dandy smug.

"Would that last long?" the warlock mused in a breath.

"Women cannot rule cities, much less nations, and never seven," the Copper King replied forcefully. "Men wage war and take thrones, raise sons to do the same. She will fail in her endeavor."

"Westeros will implode," his neighbor added. "We will have nothing with her."

Dandy glanced at him, raising his chin from his balled up fist, eyes wide. "Nothing?"

"What would you have us do?"

"Take over!" he exclaimed. "If Qarth is the greatest city that ever was or will be, can it not make of Westeros its greatest conquest that ever was or will be?"

"And avoid Essos in this conquest of yours? Your dreams are too big, Slave King."

"They are weak," Dandy continued angrily. "Fragmented were they before but broken are they now."

"And with what army, Slave King? Your freaks?"

The twelve laughed.

"I have slaves up and down these coasts, I have money enough to buy from Astapor, I could march and catch that man right now and demand of him ten thousand of his eunuchs! I have money!"

"You will find no help from us, or any alliance. If you leave here you leave your seat as a Thirteen, as a Pureborn of Qarth. Your father was told the same thing when he left for the seven kingdoms."

"Perhaps if you go," the warlock smiled. "You'll actually reach their cities?"

Dandy stood, his cloak gripped tightly in his fist. "I'll reach their cities, and I'll take them."

He didn't pay attention to the rest of the conversation, his mind running as he stared ahead, knee jiggling beneath him, and when they were let out he ran for Angus, the man traveling down the building's steps.

"Ser Angus!"

The man turned, his frown turning into a smile. "Lord Dandy," he said. "Future king of Westeros."

Dandy scowled. "Are you mocking me or are you behind me?"

"Behind you, of course. No one cares for lions," Angus replied smoothly. The young man held out his hand and the Westerosi took it. "Thank you for the information you've given us today, you will be rewarded one I've taken the capital. Make sure to stop by my arena before you leave the city, yes? I'm sure we'll find you something that'll please you."

Angus gazed him over. "You seem so sure of yourself."

"I have a few ideas."

OOOoooOOO

Elsa's barked orders went unheard and the blonde turned sharply, eyes narrowed in the rising sun, narrowed on the lobster handed boy that hadn't heard, or had chosen not to hear her orders.

She yelled out his name once, twice, and finally she marched over to where he was, his mutilated fingers angrily curled around a banner, and turned him around forcefully.

"Elsa, seven hells!"

"Are you deaf now, _vala_?"

He bristled at her use of a language that was only partly hers. She'd been born to Astapori Valyrian, and here she was trying to use the High as well as she could, being what she never was, like always. He glared at her momentarily before turning back to his work.

"What do you want?"

"Curb your tongue, Jimmy, remember who saved you as a child," she hissed. "Remember who got us here in the first place," he spit back. He glanced down at her legs momentarily, accusingly, but looked away when she deigned follow his gaze. "What do you need?"

"Eve needs help with the banner at the door, she can't climb up, you know she's afraid of heights."

"I'm a lobster boy, not a monkey boy."

But he dropped his work and grabbed his wooden ladder and made his way to the tallest woman in Essos, Eve watching him carefully as he set up. She looked him over once, her nose wriggling in thought.

"Maybe you shouldn't go up, you drank earlier."

"I'm fine, Eve, thank you," he mumbled. "Anyway, I've always wanted to fly," he added jokingly. He slipped on the first step, cursing lightly, and managed on his third try to climb up. He attached himself to the rafters, hanging from both arms and a leg, his other limb loose in the air, and he flung himself over to sit on the horizontal post, wood between his legs. He called down and Eve threw up the banner and its rope and he caught both, giving a small noise when he threatened to tip back. The boy sighed lightly as he tied strings to the rafters, glancing down the few feet between him and Eve, her head tipped back as she watched him. His dark gaze lifted and he watched the sun up in the sky, eyes burning when he looked too long but he wouldn't tear away.

"That's good, Jimmy, come down, okay?"

He nodded and threw his leg over, sitting on the wood like a child at a fountain, legs swinging. "You gonna catch me?"

"Just come down, Jimmy," Eve sighed. "Use the ladder, the last time I tried catching you it didn't work out."

"Do you ever have fun?" he mumbled. He began to slide off, foot reaching for the ladder but he shifted, his eyes blurring over and vertigo hitting him as hard as his migraine. He missed the step and continued to fall, mouth opening in a tight yelp that wouldn't come out as he watched himself tumble to the ground, as if suspended above himself.

He tasted sand and he spit it out, wondering where the metallic taste came from and why the harried voices above him were yelling his name. He turned onto his back, groaning when his shoulder blades hit the ground.

The world kept on spinning.

" _Drējī_ , you make life hard, Jimmy," Elsa spat above him. "Why didn't you say you'd drunk, huh?"

" _Glaesan_ , Elsa," he croaked back. " _Glaesan_."

"Yes, yes, did you hit your head?"

He shook it and immediately regretted it, feeling as if something was rattling around behind his closed eyelids, his scowl deep, but he wasn't sure if his head had hurt before.

"I don't think he should stand," Eve murmured by him. He dared open an eye, finding the gargantuan woman swimming in his vision.

"I don't think I can," he slurred.

"You can't stay here, not if the _āeksio_ decides to pass by," Elsa muttered. "Get up, Jimmy."

He groaned once, twice, and sat up, a knee coming up as he struggled to find some semblance of balance. The blonde in front of him sighed out and bent over to catch him by his elbows, grunting as she stood him up.

"I'm good, I'm good I-" He tripped to the side, chest heaving. "I'm good."

"We got him, Elsa."

The woman turned, eyes watching the twins and Dot who had spoken up.

"Come on, Jimmy," Bette soothed. "Come on." They both held their arms out and the boy fell into their grip, eyes closing when his head began to throb again.

"Get him back to his tent, put him down for a nap or something," the blonde said. She waved her hand vaguely and the girls nodded, pulling Jimmy closer. "And get him off the drink, seven hells."

"I'm grieving!" Jimmy yelled.

"Get him out!"

The twins dragged the lobster boy back across the sand and into the city of tents the freaks inhabited as he stumbled and mumbled. He fell into his bed when he reached it, his face smashing into his pillow as he moaned brokenly. Bette grimaced when he moved to lean over the edge of the mattress and vomited, insides clearing out onto the dirt floor. Dot groaned in their ear and they went to leave, but Jimmy held out his hand, fingers brushing against the edge of their dress, and they hung back, watching carefully as he tried to stammer out his words.

"I-I'm sorry about yelling at you the other night," he began. He shifted to rest on his pillow, looking up sideways at them. "And about being so mean all those months ago and I just need friends and I'm alone and Meep is dead and it's my fault."

"It's not your fault," Dot said.

"You're not the one who threw him into the pit," Bette added softly.

He looked away at a faraway point. "I should have died instead," he murmured. "I was in there, not him. I should have stayed where I was."

"Jimmy, stop," the harsher head snapped. "Please."

The boy glanced at her, a light smile tugging at his lips. "I haven't heard that word from your mouth in a long time, not said like that."

"Stop it," Dot warned.

"I liked it when you liked me," he continued. "Then we were still touring peacefully and then no one was dead and we didn't have some tyrant as our owner. An owner," he spit.

"Stop talking like that, Jimmy," Bette begged. "You know walls have ears."

"We're in a tent."

The two sighed despite themselves, glancing between them. "Try to sleep, Jimmy-"

"-You'll be better in the morning."

The boy looked to them, frowning lightly. "Would you stay tonight?"

"We-"

"Please, tell 'im you're sick or somethin', stay, I don't want to be alone," he begged.

 _Just tonight, Bette._

 _Only tonight?_

OOOoooOOO

"More?"

Bette began to shake her head, biting on her lower lip as she played with the glass in her hands, and Dot followed her movement slowly as she stammered out a bashful, "No, thank you."

Dandy nodded, letting himself lean back into his chair as he watched them.

He'd let them go with a dress today, their chest covered from his roaming eyes.

"Desiree is taken with Ser Angus," he informed them. He took a drink and let it rest back on the table.

"Oh, that's good to hear," Bette replied. "Hopefully he's as taken with her?"

He smiled. "Not that I care, as long as she keeps him happy, he pays."

"Would you let him buy her from you?" Dot asked.

"Perhaps, when he and I part ways."

The two shared a glance and Bette spoke softly. "You'd told he rarely stayed in Qarth."

"He and I have plans." His smile widened and he crossed his legs. "Big plans. He'll stay at my home until they're ready to go forward."

"Would you tell us?"

"What wouldn't I tell my favorite girls?" he asked back. The conjoined twins nodded and Bette looked into their lap with their dark eyes when Dot gazed away. The right head reached for her glass, beginning to drink heavily as her sister watched her warily, fingers scratching at the inside of her knee.

"Westeros's king is dead," he finally announced. "And I will be king after him."

"No one runs the country?"

"Oh, his wife," he said, waving the thought away. "She can be easily disposed. No men want a woman running them. I will bring salvation." He let his gaze hold theirs, switching between one pair of dark eyes to the other a moment later. "Every king needs a queen."

The twins nodded in unison, Bette's mouth lightly open as her mind ran and as Dot tried to shut her out. He'd always liked the sweeter head more.

"Your mother found you someone then?" Dot asked.

"She'll be lucky," Bette said quietly.

Dandy smiled. "My mother can keep her girls, my queen is going to be you."

Dot's gaze dropped to the floor, her fingers still against her thigh as Bette's heart rang in her ears, her sister's mouth dry. She bit back a grimace when his fingers came to tilt her chin up, her eyes meeting his.

"My _queens_ are going to be you," he corrected. "The both of you, I cannot choose between beauty and grace, can I?"

"That's impossible," Bette blurted.

"We're whores," Dot added.

"No country would take a whore as their queen."

"And no country would take a two headed whore as their queen."

"I run my country the way I want it run," Dandy bit back. "And if my woman, my women, are whores, then that's that. You think the dead king's queen's reputation is any better?" He held them by their jaws, smiling when Bette pushed into his touch. "You two are my sweet, innocent ones. Marry me, Dot, marry me, Bette."

"That's impossible," Dot echoed.

Dandy stood, suddenly angry. "What will it take? Do you want clothes? Jewels? I will get them for you! Dragons! Westeros is yours to run by my side and if I must I'll take the entire world!" He fell to his knees before them, pleading. "All I want is your hands in mine, all I want is to marry you, the both of you."

"But why?" Bette asked softly.

"You love me back," he responded. He reached for the hem of their dress, pushing one sleeve off a pale shoulder and doing the same with the other. "Be mine." He kissed Dot and kissed Bette and stood them up, leading them to the bed. "Marry me and you'll never want for anything else."

OOOoooOOO

It was a pretty ring, Maggie Esmeralda had to admit it. They were pretty rings.

She'd watched with avid hazel eyes as they caught the dying sunlight when the twins moved to and fro and in between tables, greeting other slaves as they tried to find a seat in between them to eat at. In another life, she'd have thought of stealing them.

In another life, she wouldn't have stopped herself.

She reached them before they had time to sit and pulled them back up by Dot's elbow, grinning. "Hey girls, join me?" Bette glanced her over, noting her long sleeves and her floor length skirt and the scarf around her neck in the murderous heat. "There's enough space in my tent," she added.

"Aren't you scared of rats?" Bette asked.

"In this weather?" Maggie laughed. She softened. "I thought we could spend some time together, I've had so much work I haven't seen you since last week." Dot nodded and they stepped back from the wooden benches, plate held firmly in between Bette's slim fingers.

Maggie had pulled all the stops for her workplace, only a sliver of light passed through the heavy midnight blue cloth that the tent consisted of and candles were haphazardly placed around the room, giving it a soft, hazy glow. The girl took her time to clear her table from the clutter before setting down her plate and reaching for the twins', placing it down by hers. She motioned to the chair and the girls sat before she did, pressing her skirt down.

She smiled. "So?"

Dot's eyebrow raised. "So, what?"

"The rings," Maggie said. She shifted in her seat. "Are you going to explain? I don't think anybody here makes wage enough for those."

"They were presents," the harsher head replied. She reached for her fork and held it out to Bette, she'd been the one to eat at lunch.

"From Dandy."

"That wasn't a question."

The blonde shrugged. "It's his style." She bit into salad. "What's the occasion?"

"Marriage."

The girl choked back her gasp, her lungs ripping as she coughed out, fist to her chest. Bette reached over and patted her back lightly as Dot grimaced for them both. She looked up, hazel eyes wide. "What?"

Bette blushed. "He wants to marry us."

"And you said yes?"

"What would you have us do? He owns us," Dot said quietly. "Anyway, he's a great match. We won't need anything ever again."

"You hate him, Dot."

"But Bette likes him, don't you? It's a sacrifice for a better life, Maggie." Dot looked away. "He said we could stop working."

"And it's not like we'd forget about you, or the others," Bette added softly.

Maggie watched them, her eyes flicking between the sisters and to the ceiling as she scowled. She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms. "You're pregnant."

Bette's eyebrows shot up. "How did you-"

"Fortune teller," Dot snapped.

"Is this why you've said yes?"

"It's part of it."

"Be quiet, Bette."

Maggie's scowl deepened. "We're friends, aren't we? So why hide things?"

The twins stared back, unwilling to respond.

The girl narrowed her gaze and slowly, achingly, she undid her grip on herself to point at the girls' waist. "Whose child is that?" she asked.

"Dandy's."

"Look at me when you say that, Bette," Maggie said. "Look at me when you say that that child is the Slave King's. Look at me and say that you haven't been gazing across tables at a man who isn't your new fiancé. Dot, who fathered that child?" When she received no answer, she cried out. "Bette!"

"It's Jimmy's."

Dot snapped her head sideways. "Bette!"

"Why would you do this? Why would you sleep with him again?" Maggie begged angrily. "You said you were done with him! You promised me you were done with him!" She rounded the table to hiss.

Dot looked away, her hand coming to rest on her and her sister's collarbone. "You don't own us."

"And Jimmy doesn't own you!" the blonde yelled back. "How many times have you seen him then? Do you know how angry Dandy will be when he finds out?"

"We're marrying Dandy, Maggie," Bette said.

"And making him believe that child is his!"

"He won't find out," Dot growled.

"He'll find out when your child is born! He'll look like Jimmy, even if its hands are normal!"

Bette glanced at her sister, stricken. "What would you have us do?"

Maggie grimaced as she turned away. "Play it off as well as you can until you can't anymore. Why wouldn't you tell me about Jimmy? I thought I mattered to you."

"You thought we liked you?"

The blonde turned, her hazel eyes dimming as she tightened her hold on herself. "Dot? Bette."

"Maggie, I'm sorry," Bette said. "I-"

"You played me," Maggie whispered. She laughed lightly. "You played me for him? Of all things you played me for Jimmy the Lobster Boy?" She took a step back, gaze full of hatred now. "You complained to me for weeks to keep me spiteful, is that it? So I- what?-Wouldn't fall for him again and so that you could have him for yourselves?" She shook her head. "And now you're engaged to Dandy."

"Maggie-"

"Just, just stay away from me," Maggie said. She waved her hand at them, turning away. "I'm going to the back, just leave when you want. I want nothing to do with this, I'm not going against your beau. Either of them." She glanced back at them. "I don't want him, I didn't want him. You didn't have to lie to me or spin a tale. I had read it already."

OOOoooOOO

"You."

Maggie's head snapped up, her gaze broken from her trance and the staring contest she'd been having with a speck of dust floating through the rays of sun filtering through her tent cut short. Her hazel eyes grew wide as she watched her master enter her tent and come to stand in front of her and her table, her crystal ball mirroring his reflection and warping it.

Her original one had been stolen from a stand cities away, small and made of glass, but he'd bought her a new one made of actual crystal, rainbows in its shadows. He hadn't wanted his slave, even if only a slave, to own anything but the best. To that she was grateful, at least she looked the part she conned.

"Master Dandy," she breathed. "How can I help you?" She faltered when he threw her a venomous look, so far from the easy glances that he usually gave her, even if it was more for her figure than for her dazzling personality (the thought made her laugh bitterly). She narrowed her hazel eyes lightly, passing it off for the dim lights and she leaned back in her chair, watching him carefully. He took the moment to sit on the chair across from hers, his gaze on her with his wide set eyes.

"The last time I came to you, you hadn't told me the old Westerosi king was dead."

Her hazel eyes glanced at the ball. "You hadn't asked," she replied.

"You know too much, don't you?" He shifted. "You know I aim to rule his country?"

The blonde nodded softly. Everyone knew, she hadn't had to step into the city to hear secrets from stunted mouths.

"Of course you do."

"What are your motivations, if I may?" she added quickly.

He shrugged easily as he stood. "I'm bored, Qarth is boring, I have the resources. Why shouldn't I?

She almost wanted to tell him that it made sense.

He placed his knuckles on her table and leaned in. "It's idiotic of me to come see you this way, to ask your opinion as if I was superstitious before every decision, as if I needed your approval for anything, and now war. But you will come."

"Come?" she echoed. "With you? To Westeros?"

"As will the rest of the freaks, the voyage will be long. I need entertainment, and your wise counsel."

"The rest of the-" She tore her gaze away. "Couldn't that be dangerous?"

"I find the idea of the great Amazon Eve running the head of a line amusing," he said, grinning. "I'll have to have armor fit for her but, well, it'd be worth it."

"Not everyone can go," she whispered. "Not that far a journey."

He looked to her, wondering, before he sat back down and took her hands in his, ignoring her flinching as he brought them to rest on her crystal ball. "What are you hiding from me? What do you see?"

Maggie glanced at the sphere. "Your loves are with child," she blurted out. "They can't go to the seven kingdoms."

"What?"

"They're-"

"I heard you," he interrupted in a whisper. "Are you lying to me?"

"Why would I? I say what I see."

Dandy began to beam, looking up at the ceiling. "The first of my line will be born in the capital."

"You can't-You can't take them with you it's too dangerous," she begged.

"They'll be safer at my side, my wives and my child."

She began to panic and tried to tear away but he held her fingers painfully tight in his, her half-hearted plan having horribly misfired and her stomach tying in knots at the possibility of his being there when Jimmy's child was born in front of him. He shifted his eyes back to her.

"I ask you, as you see into the future, into minds, and through ghosts, will I be king of the seven kingdoms?" he asked. "Why shouldn't I rule Westeros? I am a god among men, I have enough money for an army, and I am beautiful enough for minted coins. Tell me, seer, will I be king of the seven kingdoms?"

The girl spared a look at her crystal ball and after a long moment and with the twins on her mind, braved a nod. "You are the only man deserving to be."

He smiled.

 **(Learn Valyrian with Jimmy!**

 **Vala: Man**

 **Glaesan: I live**

 **Drējī: Truly**

 **āeksio: Master/Lord)**


	3. Seven Devils

**Headcanoned with an beta-ed by graceonce**

 **Rated M for rape attempts, mentions of rape, violence, femslash, language.**

 ** _One Year Before the Battle of Visenya's Hill_**

"Septa Jude of the Great Sept of Baelor."

Cold eyes turned to the older blonde woman standing at the top of the great hall, and she shifted lightly as all the guards and all the knights watched her. Blue eyes and black eyes. She held her head high but she felt as if the Seven had forsaken her in this cold scenery, days ago when she'd seen the first snows on the frozen ground. She'd been told the castle would be warm, inviting, and yet she was shuddering and her knees were shaking beneath her robes. It was still summer and her hair was wet with frost.

They were all wet with frost.

She glanced behind her at the girl that'd followed her to the north, taller and blonder yet so much smaller in stature, with her blue eyes downcast to the stone floor and her hands intertwined in front of her. She was the last left of the group of septas that'd traveled with her to the other kingdoms, full of faith and ready to teach it to the houses that needed saving. This was their last stop.

Jude turned back to the front and she bowed lightly, thinking she'd taken a little too long to do so but her hazel eyes still scanned the room. She had yet to find the one she was looking for.

She stepped farther into the hall and her girl and their garrison followed, three men strong. The crowds in front of them parted like a sea or a flurry of snow, watching them carefully, and she stopped in front of the raised platform. One throne sat there, made of wood and ends carved into the sigil of the house, but the woman sitting in it caught her attention more.

She was almost sprawled in the ornate chair, her legs kicked out and, much to the septa's dismay, she was wearing breeches, tucked in tight around her waist and with her top in a corset with chainmail glinting beneath it. Her furs were thick around her shoulders, her chestnut locks disappearing into the tufts of brown and gray. She watched Jude with black eyes, her chin in between her thumb and forefinger and her elbow on her armrest, calculating. Behind her stood a maester, his chains rattling against his chest and against each other whenever he moved, and on the other side of her a young man, chest out in pride and with his hand on the hilt of his sword. But he did not unsheathe the blade to lay it across his lap.

As if finally, truly, noticing her, the woman straightened and her eyes were now bright and interested as she sat up properly, shoulder blades flush against the back of her throne. Her voice was strong with a hint of a lisp that Jude knew from whispers around the kingdoms she tried too hard to hide.

"You are welcome to Winterfell, you and your escorts."

Jude bowed low again, hazel eyes falling away so they rested on the floor. She opened her mouth to speak but her girl spoke first, voice soft.

"We thank you for your hospitality, Lady Stark."

The hall fell silent and the brunette on her throne shifted, eyes hard. She glanced behind her and the armored man sighed loudly, annoyed. The sigh was echoed around the room by all the men standing beside and behind them and Jude bit the inside of her cheek as the younger septa looked around, confused and with fright climbing into her features.

The maester spoke, voice slow and tired, as if he'd done this a thousand times before. "You are speaking to Lord Lana Stark of Winterfell, Queen in the North by name, Protector of the Wall and all the men beyond and beneath it."

The girl's hand snapped to her mouth and her eyes began to water as she glanced around furtively. "Oh my." She bowed stiffly, awkwardly. "Please accept my sincere apologies, a thousand of them, Lord Stark."

"Sit up," the queen sighed. "There's no reason to get upset, you're not the first to have mistaken me for a simple wife." She shared a glance with her maester. _Southerners_. "Mistakes can and will be made." The girl stepped back behind Jude, cheeks bright red from shame and the cold, eyes still on the floor. "The women of the north have as much right to their house's titles and property as their brothers and uncles. Winterfell is mine."

The blonde nodded quickly.

Lana's eyes shifted to Jude. "The voyage from King's Landing was fair, I hope?"

"Cold."

Laughter rippled through the ranks.

"And how we may help you and yours?"

"We would stay in your keep until we are ready to leave again for the Crownlands. We are quite tired and weary and in need of warm food."

The maester nodded. "Understandable," he murmured.

Lana raised her hand and he fell silent. "Why are you so far in our lands? We do not follow the Seven. The entirety of Westeros knows this. Your High Septon Timothy knows this," her voice rose. "He knew this when he traveled here when he was crowned as such. When he tried to tear down my weirwood tree. My heart tree."

"And he has since apologized for overstepping his bounds, and has thanked you for understanding and forgiving his indiscretions. Am I wrong?" Jude replied, raising her chin. Lana's lip turned back in a sneer.

"Why are you so far north, Septa Jude, when you have no reason to be?"

"Houses have called upon ours to help them in the faith of the Seven. I have been tasked by our High Septon to sow your lands with our septas so that they may properly teach our ways to those turning their backs on the old gods. We are traveling to each keep, house, to leave a young girl. We started twenty-five, only Mary here is left." Lana glanced quickly at the younger blonde.

"We would have such a number of converters?"

"I am simply doing what I was asked to do," Jude replied sweetly. "We only ask for a night in your halls and some bread to keep our bellies full."

"You'll have much more, the north does not cater in small ways," Lana all but snapped. "Your arrival had been planned, your seven pointed banners seen since this morning. A feast is prepared for nightfall."

Jude bowed her head. "We thank you, Lord Stark."

The woman fell back into her throne, shoulders up to her ears. "Ser Kit, have them escorted to their rooms." The man behind her nodded and stepped forward. He waved his hand out to the door and bowed, waiting for them to follow. The three knights closed behind Jude and the younger septa and the oaken doors closed behind them, fastening shut.

OOOoooOOO

"How is she coming along?"

"Just fine, my Lord. She's been vomiting a bit but the maester says it's perfectly healthy. And normal." The young man bit his lower lip. "I worry, though."

"As you should," Lana replied. She fingered the furs sprawled on the back of her chair. She glanced back over her shoulder at the knight, finding him with his dark gaze on the floor. He was scuffing his boot on the stones with a small frown. "Kit."

His eyes snapped up and he straightened. "My Lord?"

"Am I having a bastard in my house?"

He sighed as he looked away, his shoulders falling. "I'm not planning for the child to be one. Snow is a hard name to bear."

"Then you'll do the right thing," Lana replied.

"I will, my Lord."

"Why are you taking so long?"

Kit shifted his weight. "I've no idea how to explain this to Julia," he finally admitted. "She's so young, and Alma just passed away and I don't think she's understood that yet. She thinks she'll come home, still." He watched Lana's face. "I'm marrying Grace, my Lord, have faith in my word."

"I do. I have and I will."

He nodded tightly and straightened, standing to his full height. "The direwolf furs tonight, my Lord?"

"I think so. Or the stag."

"Ironic."

She gave him a wry smile. "I'm sure Septa Jude would enjoy them," Lana continued muttering, mostly to herself. "She has no allegiance but to the Seven, but the gods know I wouldn't put up with her if I was the one who owned the Crownlands."

"And the high septon?"

"I'd bury him with a weirwood up his-"

There was a knock at the door and the woman paused, her last word on the tip of her tongue, and she nodded at Kit, swallowing it. The knight pushed his cloak back and opened the door, fighting back a grimace as the cold air clashed with the fire at his back.

His voice came to her. "The maester, my Lord."

"Let him in."

The older man closed the door behind him, his chains shining in the flames' light. He bowed lightly as was his usual, though he knew it had been a long time since the Queen in the North had told him to forget his manners when alone with her. Kit clasped his hands behind his back and waited, watching a faraway point.

"Maester Frank."

"My Lord, you look radiant, as usual." He passed his fingers through the cloak on her chair. "I'm sure Ser Kit suggested the stag."

"I beat him to it," Lana admitted. She glanced sideways at the man and she mirrored his smile. "Is the hall ready?"

"Seated for a hundred. Members of your household and your guests. The septas have been placed to your right."

"And their men?"

"At Ser Kit's table."

"Hedge knights and sellswords."

Lana turned at the snap in his voice, but he avoided her gaze. "I'll ask you to keep yourself civil. Maester Frank, ask the others to do the same. As long as they are beneath this roof and inside of Winterfell, they are my guests." He nodded. "Kit?"

"Understood, my Lord."

"Fetch me my blade, will you? Bone Shatter will do," she added.

OOOoooOOO

She'd chosen the direwolf after all.

Winterfell's great hall had been filled with long oaken tables with ample space in between them to walk, enough to fit, as the maester had said, a hundred. It could fit half a thousand but the septa was of no political importance. A hundred was enough.

Her throne had been pushed back on the raised platform and placed behind one of the tables, a seat for the maester on one side and two for her guests on the other. She leaned forward to place her elbows on the surface, pushing aside her plate as she watched Kit try to outdrink one of the sellswords from King's Landing.

He won easily.

House Poole always did.

She let her black eyes slide sideways and she spied Mary hidden behind her glass as she drank heavily from it. If it'd been wine, she'd have said something, but she knew it was water from the color that it dribbled down her neck and into her dress. Lana blinked and looked away. If she drowned it was her problem.

Her attention was taken when a yell was roared across the room. One of her knights had stood on his table, boots pushing aside cutlery, and he turned to face Lana, raising his glass high and the wine sloshing over the side. The septas watched with wide eyes. Kit wasn't sure if he should stand and follow him up or drag him down. Lana let it slide.

"To Lord Stark! Winterfell and the North! _Bone Shatter_!"

The queen raised her glass back and the tables roared, each of her men and the wenches suddenly banging their knives and forks on the surfaces, yelling ' _Bone Shatter_ ' repeatedly.

Lana rolled her eyes lightly but grinned as she stood and pushed her throne back. She ripped her Valyrian steel out of its scabbard and brandished it up towards the ceiling, the lines glinting in the fire light and mirroring the crowd.

It'd been fashioned for her when she'd ascended to the northern throne. As much as she held Ice in a special place of her heart, having seen her father wield it so many times before, it was too cumbersome to carry, much less heave. Bone Shatter was narrower, the size of her hand across and not a man's, and it ran up to her hip so that if she held the tip to the floor, she could lean on it comfortably. Ice ran up to her shoulder.

The roars grew louder until they were all hollering and calling her name and the sword's name, the dogs yelping alongside their masters.

She sheathed it easily, though the crowd did not simmer down, instead the music turning louder and frantic. Dinner was forgotten and her men grabbed the nearest women, dragging them into a dance. She glanced to her side, finding Kit gone and on the floor beneath her, his red headed paramour, Grace, in his arms as they laughed and joined the festivities. Septa Jude looked more than shocked, her lips pursed as she bit the inside of her cheek worryingly.

With the immediate danger of cold steel gone, Winterfell's hunting dogs, large hairy things, wagged their tails as they made their way over, staring up at Lana with slobber at their mouths, and she took a second to cut off the bone and fat from her meat before throwing it to them. They scampered after it, fighting for the scraps, and she smiled at Mary, who'd been watching.

The blonde turned away quickly, jaw tight.

"Do you like dogs?" Lana called out over the din.

The septa's head snapped up and she faltered, blue eyes glancing quickly to the animals brutally ripping through their treat. "Not exactly," she finally said.

"They're quite useful in the country."

"I don't live in the country," Mary replied. "And the ones I know are all full of disease that slowly kill them, but first they become insane and bite children. I don't especially like dogs."

Lana stared her down for a moment and turned away, back to watching her faithful men and their wives celebrating.

The candles were burning low when the northern queen looked back to the septas, but they were both long gone, Mary's chair pushed back beneath the table while Jude's was scraped out at an odd angle. Finally free of her guests, their sellswords passed out on the benches they'd sleep on anyway, she stood and pulled her furs closed over her chest. She nodded out at Kit and he tipped his head back at her, and she left through the archway open to her behind the long table, and closed the door after herself. There, the noise was muted.

OOOoooOOO

The sun had barely risen over the cold snowy plains that were the north that Lana had been roused from sleep, called to a meeting with Septa Jude. She wanted to groan at the thought of holding any form of court with the woman before breakfast, but dressed anyway, this time choosing the stag as her outer cloak. She almost wanted to wear antlers too, just to defy the woman a little more. Even if the hall was hers, the older blonde made her feel like so much less in her own home, and it annoyed her to the core of her very being. She'd painted herself a determined creature years ago, a woman of the faith as such as the Seven's would not break her down.

She sat in her chair, her throne, and waited, eyebrow lightly raised as she watched Jude cross the long hall and stop before her, Mary at her side, guards all around.

"I would hope you slept well?"

"We did, and we thank you."

Lana let the comment slide. "You asked to see me, surely you did not need my presence to see you off, this early in the morning?"

The blonde took to her words carefully, as if stepping around the brunette's nerves. "I was approached by some of your men, who will remain nameless, about our faith."

"I have no animosity towards those who follow the Seven," Lana interjected.

Jude bowed her head. "As I understand it, Lord Stark." She glanced sideways at the young blonde. "I have decided, as it is in my and High Septon Timothy's interests, to leave Septa Mary here, in Winterfell, to finish her training and so that she may properly teach and help your men and children, if they should come to accept the Seven into their hearts. Those wondering will have to wonder no more. I only ask that you accept her into your home and hearth and protect her as you would any of your following. Every banner should have both the Old Gods, and the New."

As she spoke, Mary had turned to gape at her, blue eyes wide as she glanced furtively between Lana and her mentor. She began to stammer. "Y-you're leaving me here? At Winterfell?"

The brunette couldn't help the light laugh that escaped her. "Your girl doesn't seem as fond with the idea as you are."

"She understood she could be left in any home as we traveled around Westeros when she joined our community, our mission," Jude said.

"I, I thought I would stay by your side-!"

Jude shook Mary's hand off her arm and her next words were more for the blonde than the queen before them. "She understands the vows she made. She knows she was put on this earth to spread the word of the Seven."

Lana watched them, black eyes flitting between the two, amused as they fought each other silently. She placed her chin in her hand, biting the inside of her cheek as she mulled her thoughts over. "Would she need a place to pray?"

"It would be preferred."

"It can be done." Lana shrugged. "We have a farm house that was evacuated after the roof caved in. It's just been fixed."

"Septa Jude-"

"Hush, Mary," the older septa replied harshly.

"Though I cannot stop her from leaving if she ever wishes to. Winterfell is not a fortress," the queen added. "I can guarantee her safety, not her staying."

"She would know not to leave until her journey to a higher state of being was done."

"That's a little morbid, don't you think?" Lana turned to eye Mary but the younger girl would not meet her gaze, tears flowing down her ivory cheeks instead. "A permanent room will be made for her, and proper attire provided. I'm guessing she hasn't as many cloaks as the winter will ask of her."

"You are taking her into your home, then?"

"The Old Gods do not speak like yours, Septa Jude, a gale would have blown if they did not accept my decision." The brunette cocked her head to the side, thumb beneath her chin. "I don't hear the wind blowing now. She is welcome to Winterfell, as are you if you would ever wish to come back." Her voice turned soft. "Septa Mary, are you content with this decision?"

The blonde looked up, stricken. "I follow the Seven."

"Of course you do." Lana stood to her full height, pulling her top down. "May your voyage home to King's Landing be safe, Septa Jude. Please accept six of my house as an escort back into the Crownlands." The queen held out her hand. "Mary."

The blonde shook lightly as she came to stand by the queen's side, taller than the brunette by but a few inches, though she looked so much smaller as she trembled endlessly and cried softly, blue eyes down on the stone floor.

"I pray the Seven will keep you in their hearts, Mary. And you, Lord Stark."

"It is appreciated."

Lana and Mary, framed by the maester and Ser Kit, watched Jude ride away on her horse an hour later as they stood on Winterfell's ramparts, herself surrounded by the sellswords she'd bought and as promised, six of the Stark men.

The young blonde cried silently as they watched the troupe ride South down the Kingsroad, hand to the side of her mouth as she tried to hide herself underneath the cold sun, away from Lana's gaze.

The queen couldn't help but hold her hand out to hover beneath the blonde's elbow as they went down the steps when they could see the septa no more. They crossed into the courtyard, and Lana stopped Mary, turning her around so they could face each other as Kit walked past them, back into the warmth of the keep.

"The entirety of Winterfell and its men are at your service, along with the maester and Ser Kit if you should need him. As am I."

"You?"

"You are my guest, Septa. I am your servant. You are not mine."

OOOoooOOO

Mary glanced between the door and the floor, unable to pick at the food in the plate before her on the wooden table.

She'd been seated up on the dais, like the night before, but now the room was empty save for the guards at the hall's entrances, faces passive and their spears held above them. A cook had brought her her food, passed it to her and given her a quick smile before shuffling out again, leaving her alone. She had so desperately wanted to call the man back, but he was gone before she had turned.

And so she played with her fork, trying hard to ignore the animals in the corner of the hall.

She was cold, and she tightened the cloak she'd received from one of the serving girls around her shoulders, some type of rabbit fur strung together in patches. Not exactly the epitome of luxury, but it did its job. She had been wearing less during the feast a day prior, but then it had been almost sweltering in the room, with all the candles lit and people over-exerting themselves.

Then, the Lord of Winterfell had been inside the hall.

She still flushed angrily at the thought of her first words to the woman, the way she'd so easily assumed customs here in the north were the same as in the capital. The queen's black eyes were unnerving as she'd blinked at the blonde, and Mary had wanted to die then. Something so ambitious ran through the woman's veins, right along with the wolf blood, and Mary had wanted to die. To travel and jump right off the top of the Wall itself.

Maybe the snow would have softened her fall. Maybe she could have run away.

She tapped her foot against the wooden platform, the sound echoing lightly. Now she had to live with this woman who she'd insulted in their first minutes of meeting. She had been left to die in the cold by a woman who she thought she could trust, who she thought liked her enough to keep her as her own personal girl, and now she was servant, _guest_ , to another who would most likely use her and spit her back out again.

She sat waiting for someone to join her.

But they never came.

OOOoooOOO

"How did you fare last night, Lord Stark?"

Lana grunted back, and the maester took it as a good answer as any as he continued. Lana Stark had never been a morning person. He'd helped his mother give birth to the woman that now sat in front of him, and even as a day old infant she'd slept better through the morning than any child he had ever seen. He shifted his weight.

"And the septa?"

She shrugged lightly as she reached for the wine at the edge of the table, across from her bread and meats. "I don't know. Why?"

"I found her crying this morning."

The brunette's movements paused, her hand in the air, and her black eyes quickly flicked up to him. "Oh."

"'Oh' is right, my lord."

"And what should I do?"

"Most likely apologize. You left her to herself in a new place, alone. You know better."

Lana waved vaguely as she fought the blush of shame that was running up her chest at break-neck speeds. "I didn't want to crowd her."

"My lord."

"I know, _I know_ ," the woman replied. "I'll go and see her, alright? And I'll tell her I'm sorry. I really am. I'm, I just don't trust people like her."

"Like her?"

"She's a septa," Lana growled lightly. "You know how I feel about them and their kind."

"A mistake a man made long ago shouldn't be held over this girl's head."

"And I know that. I'm regretting my actions, believe me." She glanced up at him. "And it wasn't one man with one mistake, and _you_ know that. Too long have the New Gods and their disciples tried to erase me and mine from the history books." She looked away. "They've already managed some."

"She has naught to do with them. She's barely past her twentieth nameday, Lord Stark," he soothed. "She knows nothing of this world, nothing of the relationships broken and made and broken again in spaces of time as long as her breath. She wasn't born into her duties."

"She chose them. Shouldn't she be the wiser?"

Maester Frank sighed and Lana scowled.

"I'm not much older than she. She's just naive."

"I didn't say she wasn't," he replied. "And perhaps more fragile. An apology is needed."

"I'll go after, I told you."

His eyebrow raised and she let her chin fall against her outstretched arm as she gave up and in.

She'd grabbed the still warm loaf of bread before leaving her hall, the maester's light eyes on her retreating figure and her shoulders hunched against the cold wind blasting down from the north and into Winterfell's courtyard.

She realized now she had no idea where to find the young blonde.

The Queen in the North wandered aimlessly for a moment as she chewed the inside of her cheek, unsure of where to head first and not really sure she wanted to head there in any case. Her feet finally took her to the library tower, her eyes narrowed as she climbed its exterior stairs in the howling gale fall was so known for. Though the castle had been built on a natural hot spring and stayed relatively warm compared to its outside world, it was still cold. Only she would not freeze.

The inside of the tower was warm and she took a moment to pound her boots into the floor, snow falling onto the wooden boards and melting there as she looked up into the rafters and around the dozens of bookshelves, sighing in content.

She loved the library, she always had. Ever since she'd been a child it'd been the one place she felt most comfortable. She'd read, she'd memorized, she'd written herself, one end of the room holding her own poetry and her own histories, safely hidden behind her family's genealogy tree, etched into a tapestry.

She regretted having put her quill down but now she was a lord, she had no time to write, no matter how her heart ached to. She had nothing to write about anyway. Her innocence, her childhood, her imagination, was gone now.

Her breath clouded in front of her momentarily as she warmed to her surroundings and tried to look around the tall furniture, trying to spy the septa and hoping she was inside and not out. There was a long pause of heavy, utter silence, but a noise came and she smiled despite herself. She walked slowly to where Mary was, at a corner in the library and standing at a low table, the girl's back to the incoming northern woman, and Lana stopped long enough to watch her. The blonde'd found a stack of books that the brunette knew the spines to belong to the culture and society section of Winterfell's library, and she couldn't help but sigh out.

Mary's head snapped up and she turned, already stammering out an apology, doubling their intensities when she recognized the woman to be her lord, but Lana waved vaguely at her and she quieted down, meek in her stature, soft in her gestures.

"I should have asked if I could come in," the blonde tried.

Lana glanced back at the tower's door and slowly shrugged. "There's no lock on this place."

Mary bit her lip and tore her gaze away, nodding. Her baby blue eyes snapped up when Lana stepped forward to finger the books strewn around the table messily, her lips already forming yet another apology, but the brunette shook her head and she fell silent.

"What are you doing reading up on the north?" Lana asked softly.

"I, if I'm going to stay here, perhaps I should know your people. I already stick out, what with my physical attributes, I wouldn't want to sound like a foreigner either."

"But you are."

Mary spoke low. "I am." She picked at a strand of hair hanging off her ear and tucked it back behind.

Though the girl was taller, she was trying so hard to be small next to the lord.

"I," the brunette took a slow breath and peered out the window, at anywhere but the blonde. "I wanted to apologize about not joining you for dinner last night."

The septa looked up, surprised. "You shouldn't have to, I'm sure you were busy."

"I wasn't."

They fell silent with Mary turning pages awkwardly as the wind howled outside.

"Perhaps some change will be good, with you here?" Lana finally mused. "A meeting of minds, if you will. Of territories and people and of cultures. The gods know this place could use some change." She turned on herself only to turn back as she thought out loud. "I'll have a sept made out of the unused stocks room, as I said I would. Though I cannot guarantee the smell of animal will not linger," she added.

Mary smiled as she looked away, a blush running up her neck. "I am grateful, my lord."

"Don't let the low lights ruin your eyesight, Septa Mary," the lord of Winterfell said. "I wouldn't want to have to hear you nicknamed 'the blind'."

The girl's blush only ran deeper. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"That's what all readers say."

"Do you know many?"

"We're not barbarians," Lana replied. She watched Mary wince at her sudden lack of tact and she shrugged to ease the blonde's mind. "I'll leave you to your research, but know that sometimes practice gives more than reading. I know the north better than any book you will ever read, as anyone here."

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you," Mary sighed out. "Try not to, try not to catch a cold out there-" Lana glanced back at her, amused, and she faltered. "-Though you know how to handle yourself, don't you? Forgive me."

Lana only smiled and turned to leave the tower, but she paused with her fingers on the door, calling out from where Mary could not see her. "Septa?"

The blonde appeared at the edge of a bookshelf, eyebrows up in question and with a book to her chest, and the brunette smiled.

"I can't see twenty feet ahead of me. It gets blurry."

OOOoooOOO

Lana had done as she'd said she would, overseeing the works on the stocks room herself and watching as it was cleaned out, arms crossed over her chest as she stood for hours in the cold, eyes narrowed in thought. She wasn't bothered by it or the waiting and that was fine with her.

In the wind her mind ran free.

The blonde girl's stint in the library had gotten Lana to fetch her quill that same night. She'd stared at it with questioning black eyes for a long time, her fingers flirting with the parchment paper resting on her desk, but she hadn't been able to write.

Not the first few hours, anyway.

She'd woken, drool regretfully mixed between her cheek and the parchment, and she'd been filled with such emotion from where even the Old Gods knew not (she guessed from the confines of her sleep-addled mind, somewhere they could not reach and knew nothing of) that her pen had slipped with free-flowing ink. She'd reread it after and it hadn't made much sense, but a small sense of pride at what she'd been able to do had found its way to her throat.

She thought she'd thank the girl but the thought of having to explain herself and her sudden muse made her scowl and her fingers shake in her gloves.

The men working on Winterfell's new sept came to her at night-break, sweat freezing over their brow and with their backs bowed low to her. She'd sent them off to rest with access to the kitchens if they wanted to eat or drink, and had walked the way they'd came to see how far they'd come along on the rafters that had previously and for so long been threatening to fall in.

It was cold inside the stone and wood building but at least a door had been put in and the howling wind and snow stopped at the threshold. It stood at around eight feet tall, twenty feet long and shaped in a long rectangle, columns keeping the roof from collapsing in on itself. Mary had shyly requested that pews be put in and she'd had the carpenters start work on the benches, two were pressed against the wall but the others would come later. She had to remember to ask for firewood for the fireplace at the end of the room.

She turned at the sound of the door opening, her hand sneaking to the hilt of her sword hidden beneath her cloak out of pure habit and at the lateness of the hour, but she relaxed when she spied a golden head of hair stained with snow.

"Mary."

The girl looked up, fear behind the surprise in her eyes as her muscles tensed, but she gave Lana a small smile. "Lord Stark, I didn't think you'd join us tonight."

"Join you?"

"For the first mass," Mary replied cheerily. She went to remove her coat but after a moment decided to keep it on. "I could have have it in the morning but you northerners work from dawn." She looked up into a quizzical black gaze and her own face fell. "Oh, you're not here for that."

"No, no I am," Lana lied.

The blonde glanced at her, the both of them knowing the truth, but she said nothing, much to Lana's gratitude.

The girl took a seat on one of the pews, after a moment shyly tapping the spot next to her with the palm of her hand, beckoning the lord of Winterfell over. The brunette sat by her gingerly, rubbing her knuckles against her knee.

"I came to check on how this place was coming along," Lana said softly. "It should be properly furnished for the end of the week, fire and all."

"Thank you, immensely," Mary replied.

A long moment passed between them, the two listening to the storm outside for a period of time neither could have put a meaning to. Lana knew Mary was too shy to speak, and as for herself, she had no reason as to why she couldn't voice her thoughts. The septa shifted awkwardly beside her and she let out a clipped sigh, anguish reflecting through it.

"I, I think, maybe," Mary paused. "Perhaps my message didn't get out as I thought it had."

"I'm sure people are coming," Lana murmured.

"I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but we both know no one is coming." The septa went to stand but the brunette grabbed for her wrist, gently tugging her back.

"I'm here."

Mary watched her for a short breath before nodding slowly and sitting back down, not breaking the hold the older woman had on her arm until Lana herself pulled away.

"By now I would have begun a sermon," Mary said quietly. "I hadn't actually prepared, I'll be honest. I think that I knew, in my heart, that no one would come."

"What would you have said if they had?"

The blonde closed her eyes. "That the New Gods aren't what they're thought to be. That they love, that they're not here to despise anyone."

"They sound nice."

Mary spared Lana a look, accompanying it with a laugh.

"And then?"

"Then I'd take confessions, let your men absolve themselves of their sins. Admitting your wrongs is the first step."

Lana's eyebrow raised and Mary mirrored her skeptical gaze before grinning, a flush rising up her cheeks. "You really don't have to act like you care, you know?" The blonde shifted her shoulders. "Thank you for trying, but there's really no reason to."

"These confessions-"

"I'd rather just sit," Mary admitted quickly.

The older woman nodded softly and moved to rest against the wall, watching the girl shift and cross her legs beneath her dress. She narrowed her eyes lightly and cocked her head to the side. "Why a septa?"

"Why not? I like helping others." The girl braved a smile. "I could have been a silent sister, of course, but I love talking too much," she added, blushing when Lana's lips twitched up. "I will admit to rethinking my choice once or twice. I thought of having children, of course, but that's not me. Why a lord?" she asked teasingly.

A heavy silence fell on them and Lana's gaze left the younger woman's, Mary biting the inside of her cheek at the queen's sudden loss of interest. She opened her mouth to speak but she closed it again, unsure, and instead she crossed her arms against the chill in the sept.

"I had a child," Lana finally said, voice echoing in a whisper through the stone walled room.

"Had?" Mary looked up, suddenly stricken. "Lord Stark, I'm so sorry-"

The brunette waved her hand vaguely, eyes on the ceiling. "Oh, he's not dead."

The blonde squirmed. "The Wall?"

"Nothing so drastic, no. He's just-" Lana shrugged. "Gone."

"Forgive me, I don't understand-?"

Black eyes met a blue gaze.

"The word used in these parts is 'kidnapped'," the brunette said lowly.

Mary struggled for words. "I'm truly sorry, I didn't know. I thought I'd studied the north enough before coming, the family and the, and the-I hadn't know that you'd been with child and husband-"

"Husband?"

"Surely he's not a bastard."

The woman raised an eyebrow and Mary faltered. "Maybe that's why you wouldn't know of him," Lana clipped. "Though I'm not one to broadcast my missing boy."

The blonde's shoulders raised to her ears as she tried to make herself small against the cold, mouth open in silent questions. She cleared her throat. "What happened? If I may so bold to ask," she added softly.

Lana closed her eyes, a light frown dipping her eyebrows, and she shrugged. "I was raped."

"My Lord-"

"My father was still alive then," she said. "It was a time when I was betrothed to Oliver Bolton of the Dreadfort. We were to be the greatest alliance of the north, a linking of two great families unable to be dethroned once we had both coasts and the woods, all the way down to the White Knife." She smiled. "My father had shot down boar for the first night's banquet. He'd been so proud of it, as I had been." The brunette sobered as she opened her black eyes. "He was bizarre, but nice enough, Oliver? He was calmly severe, you could tell he was calculating when he looked at you, through you. He had these small little smiles that somehow made you trust him, a soothing voice. And one day he just-" Lana grimaced. "Snapped. Began to call me things he shouldn't have called me. Began hitting me. And he, well."

"And your lord father?"

"He was the one that found me the next day," the lord said softly. "He called off the wedding and chased the Boltons home, swore to the Old Gods and the New that he would eradicate their line when I learned I was pregnant. We are at war still today, Septa Mary, and my father has been dead almost three years."

"Then he's still alive?"

"They all are." Lana looked to the window. "It was a long spring with too many snows, there would have been too many deaths to the ice cold night if we had attacked the Dreadfort. And my father died," she paused. "I don't think he ever truly forgave himself for what happened to me."

"And the child?"

"Stolen in the middle of the night by Oliver's men. He was barely eight months old. He must be three, now."

"You-" Mary bit her lip. "You handle yourself very well for all the tragedies that have befallen you."

"What else would I have done?"

"Many would have crumbled beneath the weight of what happened to them. Many have."

"I'm a Stark."

Mary nodded. "So you are."

Lana turned to look at her with piercing eyes. "What are you? Where are you from?"

The blonde shrugged lightly. "I'm a septa, I have no home anymore. I belong to the Gods." She smiled sadly. "That's all there is to it."

"It must be hard, living without a family name to fall back on." Lana suddenly stood and crossed to the door, the girl watching her with wide eyes, her confusion apparent. "You wanted a confession, Septa?" She gave her a small smile, devoid of joy. "I don't want the child back. I never wanted him. He can keep his name."

OOOoooOOO

Kit had wrangled the man off of a weeping Mary and Lana, far from her usual composure, had begun to smash his face in quickly, warm blood spraying onto the newly fallen snow. She pulled back when his nose was bashed to a pulp and when he spit out his front teeth, but he giggled on, breathing raggedly through his broken mouth.

She'd been crossing the courtyard with the young knight when a scream had rung out through Winterfell, and though they'd both pulled their swords out she'd thrown hers to the ground as soon as she saw and went to grab the northern man pushing himself against the blonde septa.

She grabbed onto his collar and raised him to stand on shaky legs. He came down onto her knee and he stopped laughing when the blunt went up into his stomach and past his gut. He fell onto all fours and then onto his side, laying in red and white.

Lana pushed past Kit and the knights that had congregated at the struggle and her hands wrapped around the blonde's face, thumbs catching on her lips as she gazed into frightened blue eyes. Mary's fingers grasped onto her arms.

"Mary, did he hurt you?"

The blonde was shaking her head yes and then no and sputtering out words and phrases but it made no sense, and Lana tugged her closer, whispering her name. She passed her fingers over the reddening welt on the girl's cheek, dark eyes running up and down her frame. She tugged the septa's cloak closed over the ripped threads along her dress and she passed a hand through blonde hair, murmuring almost as intangibly as her.

She turned, standing so tall that she shielded Mary behind her. "Ser Kit, take her to her room and fetch the maester, have him take care of her."

"My lord?" he asked, grabbing the man by the cuff of his collar. "What do I do with Spivey?" The man raised to his knees at his name, swaying and bleeding down his neck.

"I'll take care of him. Septa Mary first, if you please."

The man nodded quickly and let the knight drop to the ground, reaching for the blonde. He gave her an encouraging push and he let her bury into his neck as he walked her across the yard and into the hall.

Lana faced Spivey. She raised her foot and pushed him back, heel tight against his shoulder. He fell, gazing up at the sky and wheezing. She grabbed him by the edge of his cloak and began to drag him through the snow as her men watched.

"My Lord, the crypt?"

She didn't turn at the raised voice, barely noticing the effort it took to pull the man, if it took any at all.

She reached the door and heaved it open, facing the stone steps that led into the dark abyss where her ancestors lay, and she raised the man until he could face her. "Face my ghosts. And pray the wolves don't eat you." He would have fallen back at the easiest of pushes but she took satisfaction in kicking him in, boot against his sagging didn't care to wait to see how many steps he hit along his way down, though she knew it was many from the broken cries.

Her men were watching her, their faces almost passive at her actions. "Check on him tomorrow, Ser Jack." She paused. "Check on him _late_ , tomorrow."

The man nodded.

OOOoooOOO

"Maester?"

All it took was a nod of his head and the queen was pushing past him to the bed. The blonde watched her with wide blue eyes but she shied away, looking up at her as she trembled. Lana towered over her for only a moment before she fell to her knees, reaching across the mattress to hold the girl's hands in hers.

The maester had placed gauze over her cheek but it was already bleeding through, and the brunette half wondered if it'd leave a scar on that angelic face. Her upper arms were marred with bruises, her tears hadn't dried yet, her chin quivered every time she breathed in. She wasn't about to speak comprehensibly.

Lana raised, eyes on the black and blue marks dotting the girl's forearms, and she placed her knee on the bed to lean over and kiss Mary's forehead, dark eyes closing in fury. She murmured into Mary's ear, a quick word of encouragement, and she started to pull away from the blonde but her clawed fingers in her frosted furs stopped her.

"Please don't leave me alone he might come back-"

"He won't," Lana murmured back. "He won't, Mary." Blue eyes stared up at her, filled with pure fear. "A moment, just give me a moment. I'll be outside with the maester and I'll be back, alright?"

Mary let her go, albeit with some struggle, and she brought her knees up to her chest as she watched Lana backtrack her steps to the septa's door. She didn't close the door all the way, leaving a slit, unable to sever the connection.

She turned to face the old man. She barely wanted to ask. "Is she alright?"

"Shaken, bruised." He sighed raggedly, shifting beneath Lana's black, questioning, gaze. "He didn't, my Lord."

"You're sure."

"There are marks along the top of her thighs but no sign of-" The maester paused to breathe in, blinking. "-No sign of forced entry."

The northern queen let out a long breath, one she'd been holding since she'd heard Mary scream from the courtyard.

"She'll need a few days to recuperate, no doubt," he added. "Give her time, and don't crowd her, the last thing she needs, I believe, is someone standing above her." He glanced sideways at her. "You tend to hover."

She sneered at him, feeling no joy in the action. She looked back at the door. "Where's Kit?"

"He's gone to the crypt."

Her frown grew and she flexed her fingers. "What for?"

"He wants to be the one to watch the door, my Lord."

"Tell him to have himself replaced and to get his ass up here, he'll watch this one instead."

The maester nodded at her, bowing lightly, before retreating down the hallway and disappearing past a corner. Lana waited a moment, listening for the clinks of his chains floating through Winterfell until she could hear them no more.

She opened the septa's door slowly, carefully, finding Mary with her eyes on the fire dying in the corner of the room. The blonde turned, stiffening, but she relaxed slightly seeing it was only the queen. Her blue eyes glanced behind her though.

"I'm alone," Lana said quietly. The blonde nodded tightly. "I'll be outside for the night, alright? I'll be right behind this door, with Ser Kit. You don't have to worry."

"I'd rather you stayed."

The brunette watched her. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"I think it is."

"He's not leaving where he is, Mary."

The blonde's gaze fell away and it strayed to the floor. "He's strong, my Lord. I trust your men, but he's strong."

There was a knock and Lana turned, hand reaching for where her sword was, but it was only Kit who appeared in the doorway. His cheeks were red from the cold and he was out of breath from climbing up the stairs, but he took a second between intakes of air to bow. He gazed over Mary's face and bandages before speaking.

"I want to be in the courtyard."

"And you'll stay here," Lana replied. "Outside." She glanced at Mary. "I'll be inside."

He bowed again, fingers tightening around the pommel of his sword. His words were softer now, for the blonde. "No one's coming up those stairs."

He closed the door behind himself and Lana heard him place his chainmailed back against the oaken door, his furs muffling the sound lightly. The brunette removed her outer cloak and placed it on the back of the chair by the desk. She sat down in it, feet planted firmly on the floor.

She was still, as she knew Kit was where he stood, as was Mary on her bed. Her blue eyes were fixed on the darkening sky and then the twilight and then star studded black. She shivered every once in a while but Lana fought off the need to reach over to her.

Mary spoke first, some time later.

"You're so quiet. I can barely hear you breathe."

Lana shifted lightly. "I was told not to crowd." Her tongue burned. "Are you alright?"

"I'm scared," the blonde replied softly. She rubbed her tender skin. "He, he didn't _do_ anything, my Lord."

"He hurt you," Lana snapped. She pushed back into her chair, willing her breathing to slow. "You do know he will be punished, correct?"

"He's your man."

"He's far from being so."

"That's so peculiar," Mary murmured, blue eyes watching Lana. "In King's Landing he'd be walking around, free, and I'd have been paid to be quiet for his...attempted indiscretion."

 _In King's Landing no one would have stopped him_. The queen suddenly stood and the blonde pulled back slightly. "This isn't King's Landing." Mary nodded, throat dry, and Lana stepped back, murmuring an apology. "You should sleep, you need it."

"I'm afraid to."

"I'm right here. And Kit is right outside the door."

"Nightmares don't hold barriers."

Lana glanced at her. "You already know you'll have them?"

The blonde bit her lower lip. "They come easily to me." She sighed and motioned the brunette over. Lana came slowly to stand in front of her, looking down at her. "Stay with me."

"I'm right here, Mary."

The girl grimaced and took Lana's hand in hers, pulling her towards her as she fell back against the pillows. Lana followed her, fingering her sides gingerly. The blonde burrowed into her neck and the queen held her gently, breathing almost gone.

"I'm right here."

OOOoooOOO

Lana watched Spivey from where she sat on her throne, her legs crossed and foot swinging harshly in air as she fought to keep calm. She'd been told that he'd screamed most of the night, yells punctuated with little giggles and kicks against the stones.

He wasn't laughing now.

He stared up at her but his defiance was outshined by his fear. She stood and he cowered back, face illuminated briefly by the flash of her long sword, free of its scabbard that morning.

Bone Shatter.

"I should separate your head from your body," she hissed into his face. She knew Kit was nodding behind her and that the maester was shaking his head as she began to pace the platform.

"But you won't, will ya," the man, formerly known as Ser Spivey and now stripped of his titles, croaked.

Lana reached out with her hand and she was handed a letter, Spivey watching the interaction with cold eyes. "We intercepted a message for you," she said quietly. "How long have you been a traitor? How long have you reported back to Delphine Bolton for?"

"Since your godforsaken father left this earth," he spit back. "No better than him, you are. You're no lord, you're no true heir to Winterfell."

"And the Boltons are?"

Spivey grinned. "They own the place."

Kit growled as he went to step forward but the maester held him back.

Lana narrowed her eyes. "Explain yourself."

"Maybe you've pulled the wool over everyone's eyes here, but the entirety of the Dreadfort knows," the man started. "Everyone knows you're married to Oliver Bolton. Winterfell is his."

The brunette suddenly reached for her sword and the men in the hall all stepped forward, reaching for their own. Her hand fell away and she flexed her fingers in her gloves, biting the inside of her cheek as she tried to breathe. "The Wall would be too good for you," the queen spat, black eyes gazing down at the man on his knees before her. "Those hands of yours touched her," she added, words hashed out. "So I'll take them."

His grin fell away.

OOOoooOOO

Though it had been close to a month since the incident and since Lana had sent Spivey crawling back to the Dreadfort with a horse attached to the stumps at the ends of his arms, Mary still asked for a guard at night, every night, shyly doing so with a flush rising up her cheeks when she leaned into Lana to ask. The lord wouldn't have admitted it to the girl but some days she herself took the watch, too alert to sleep.

It was one of these nights now, with her standing flush to the door, furs draped tightly over her shoulders and breathing shallow as she listened to the cold darkness. Like every night it was quiet, only her beating heart echoing in her ears. It'd been a while since she'd heard Mary toss and turn and cry out, but they both knew she wasn't sleeping well. She bit her pillow at night and cried silently, her cheeks stained in the morning, and it killed Lana that she couldn't do anything.

She'd been relieved when the girl had assured her, almost puzzled, that she hadn't sent a message to Septa Jude, or to High Septon Timothy.

It confused the older woman that Mary hadn't begged to go back to King's Landing as soon as she'd woken the next morning after her ordeal. Instead she'd sat quietly, blue eyes swimming as Lana's own black ones stared back from her chair and as the castle bustled awake around them, men and women bringing food and drink and clothes.

Lana scowled. She hadn't been able to figure out why Spivey would take such a chance to be found if he spied for the Dreadfort. He'd been living inside Winterfell for years, he would have acted before if he was a rapist. She wondered if Mary had set him off. She wondered if he'd done it before and she just hadn't known.

Kit had dared ask if what the man said had been true, and she'd sent him away, deciding herself to take a day to leave the fortress to breathe, her ribs hurting at the thought. It was truth that her and Oliver had been married, but as far as she knew he'd never used the pretext of their vows or even spoken of them, as she hadn't. His mother had signed for her as she'd sat and cried, the hour at midnight and her father sleeping and between the first abuse and the second.

If the Dreadfort knew, it was no good. If Oliver had said something, if Oliver had proclaimed their forged alliance to the towns, Winterfell wasn't safe.

She sat closer to Mary that morning at breakfast, rubbing at one of the dog's heads as it pushed against her knee.

"You need to learn how to protect yourself, Mary. I won't always be there, Ser Kit won't always be there, to protect you from rapists and murderers."

"Rapists and murderers get sent to the Wall," Mary replied almost dutifully.

Lana turned to watch her. "Yes." She paused. "I have a present for you."

The blonde glanced sideways at her. "My Lord, there's no need."

"It's more for my own conscience than yours."

"It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't yours either," Lana replied quietly. She waved her hand at the nearest guard and he pushed open the Hall's back door, two dogs skittering through to stand at her side, tails wagging forcefully. They were night black with big, big eyes, their teeth sharp. "They're not wolves, but-" the brunette breathed in. "Direwolves haven't been seen this far south in generations. This'll have to do." She looked over Mary. "They have no disease."

Mary ducked her head, blushing. "They?"

The queen shrugged. "They're bitches, if you want to know."

"May I name them?"

Lana smiled. "If you wish. But be warned, these are guard dogs, they're vicious. They're not to be cajoled or hugged or petted often. That's what the hall dogs are for." Her voice fell out as Mary reached out and stroked the nearest girl, the beast barking back as she breathed hard, muscles shifting beneath her dark coat.

Watching the septa hold a sword was no more adorable than hilarious, Kit watching from a few feet off, grin hidden behind his hand as the dogs trailed around him. Though it was a short sword, the blonde held the hilt with two hands, the tip awkwardly pointed to the ground as she gazed at Lana pleadingly, obviously out of her element.

"This is going to need work," Kit called out.

Lana ignored him.

OOOoooOOO

"You missed."

"I know."

"Your whole stance is off."

The blonde turned to give the queen of the north a measured glare, her blue eyes steeled and her breath coming in out in soft clouds as she huffed, annoyed. "I know," she bit back. The brunette raised an amused eyebrow from where she was, ten feet off and leaning against a wooden pillar. The blonde flushed and looked away at her sudden burst of emotion. Some lines weren't meant to be crossed.

Lana Stark ambled her way over, her boots crunching in freshly fallen snow, and came to stand by Mary's side, black eyes on the target they faced, a good thirty feet away. She raked her gaze over the ground, littered with fallen arrows, and she scrunched her nose. "You haven't hit the target once."

"I did hit the wall at one point," Mary offered.

Lana dismissed her with a wave of her hand. "I must have been looking somewhere else. Pick up another arrow."

The blonde grudgingly did as she was told, a look of worry over-passing her face as she reached down and plucked an arrow from the frozen ground. She cocked it to her, _my Lord's_ , bowstring and turned to the brunette, waiting. Lana clicked her tongue and she raised her arms, the bow following, and she aimed at the target as she brought her left elbow back.

"What are you doing."

Mary faltered, the tip of her aim falling a few inches. "I'm, I'm cocking back."

"No, you're not. Cock all the way back, fingers by your mouth, come on. This is why your shots fall short, you're not giving enough tension."

The blonde's blue gaze fell to the side. "I, this is the farthest I can go, Lord Stark."

"You're joking."

Mary shook her head as she bit her lip, tears threatening to collect at the corners of her eyes. She rubbed the palm of her hand against her cheek, willing them away. Lana sighed stiffly and rounded her.

"Pick up your bow."

The blonde did as she was told, hands trembling slightly as she fixed her aim once more. She stiffened as the brunette suddenly molded her front to her back and wrapped her fingers around her hands, effectively mirroring her.

"What are you doing?" Mary paused. "My Lord."

"I'm showing you how to shoot," Lana answered curtly. "Take me as your strength support. You aim, I'll do the rest. Can you do that?" Mary nodded. "Then show me."

The blonde's breathing was irregular, her heartbeat echoing in her ears as she narrowed her eyes slightly, squaring the target in her sights. She began to tug on the string and suddenly Lana's muscles were contracting around her, helping her pull. She could feel the woman's shoulder pulling back against hers almost effortlessly from years of practice, though her bones were crinkling and groaning beneath her skin, crying out at the injustice of the weight held behind the bow's tense string. The brunette's fingers tightened around hers, solidifying her wavering aim, adjusting her grip on the back of the arrow, her thumb brushing past Mary's lips. She stepped a little closer to the blonde, cementing their shot, their arms stretched out and their spines arching.

"Now. You're going to let the arrow go, but gently. Just let it glide out of your fingers, let the feathers ruffle past you. There's no need to be harsh. Just let it slide," Lana instructed her. "Are you ready?"

Mary nodded softly, the back of her head bumping into the older woman's, and the brunette adjusted herself to look past her hair, her nose brushing against the back of her neck. With one last, long, breath, she did as she'd been told, her fingers relaxing, Lana's following suit. She slammed her eyes shut as the string rushed past her cheek, breaking her skin, and as the arrow shot out to the gods knew where.

Lana let out a soft laugh from behind her, her hands finding the girl's wrists. "You could at least look."

"I'm afraid to."

The Lord of Winterfell took a step back from her and pushed her forward. Mary stumbled slightly and her blue eyes opened as she fought to regain her balance. She looked up and there her arrow was, embedded inside the hay target. It was nowhere near the center, but it'd made it. She turned back to Lana, unable to hide her grin, but the woman's scowl made her pause.

Her shoulders fell lightly. "What is it?" She let out a rush of air as Lana took a step forward, her hand coming up to cradle her cheek.

"You're hurt."

"Oh. I can't feel it."

"That's because you're freezing your ass off." Lana cocked her head to the side as Mary blushed. "Sorry. I keep forgetting that I have to curb my language around you southern girls. What I mean is, you're cold enough that you probably can't feel your face."

"I can feel your hand," the blonde offered softly. The brunette's arm fell away but Mary caught it and took her glove off, raising her fingers to her cheek herself. Her blood, the minimal amount of it, wiped off on Lana's fingers and suddenly the warmth was making the whole side of her face sting atrociously. She ripped the woman's hand away. "I should probably see someone."

"Before it gets worse. Or infected, yes." Lana nodded, her fingers tight around her glove. "I'm sorry."

"For what? I struck the target."

"You struck true, yes," the brunette looked away. "The maester'll be in the throne room at this time. I'll meet you for dinner."

Mary looked up. "You won't come with me?"

"I, no. I have things to do." Lana picked up an errant arrow, her fingers playing with the sharp end. "But you won't eat alone." _Not like the first night._

"Thank you. Lord Stark?"

The brunette looked up and raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"How are you a sharp shooter if you can't see properly?"

"I got used to it. How'd you know?"

Mary shifted. "That you can't see? You told me."

"And you remembered from all those weeks ago?"

The blonde stayed silent as she flushed and Lana looked away.

"It's easier when the target is a moving one," she admitted. The Lord of Winterfell let the arrow slip through her hand and she turned and walked away, back into hallowed halls, the blue eyed blonde staring after her, cheek stinging and heart hammering.

OOOoooOOO

"I was hoping you'd have good news, but by the look on your face I can't expect much, can I."

Ser Kit shifted awkwardly on the ball of his feet, the letter in his hand crumpled between his fingers. "It's Ser Jack, my Lord Stark, with news from Hornwood."

The brunette gave him a clipped sigh as she gazed around the hall. Her men had congregated inside, snow melting in their hair as they waited out the weekly war council with their eyes glinting in the candle lights. She'd sent Jack to just south of the Dreadfort with another three men, the group dressed poorly but with their armors beneath, to spy on potential movement. They hadn't asked questions as to why they'd been mobilized.

Only Kit and the maester knew, but a box had been sent back two weeks after Spivey had left, and inside the box had been a finger. A child's finger.

And in those small packages and mutilated men, war had begun between the two families.

It was most likely her fault, the impending battle, she'd been too rash in punishing Spivey as she had. But she was far from regretting it.

Kit cleared his throat and began to read out from the letter he held. "Oliver Bolton has crossed the Weeping Water with a battalion of five thousand souls. He runs to King's Landing." He let his arm drop to his side.

"He intends to ask the Lannister's for help, he wants to eradicate us," Lana clarified. "Doesn't he, after all, have a claim to Winterfell? And doesn't the Lannister woman, in all rights, have the power to get rid of me as lord and warden to the North?"

"If he wanted to ask for his rights, he wouldn't take five thousand men," Maester Frank said quietly. "Your father bent the knee to the Lannisters but even they know the north has no love for them, that we only tolerate them. He will join their forces and they will march here to make you bend the knee again, and if they have to break them they will."

"A queen fights, Lana," Kit whispered harshly. "And her men fight alongside her."

"And what would you have me do?" she spit back. "Upheave the entirety of my castle and leave for the south to fight?"

"Would you not? Your people are in danger if he reaches the Lannisters. Five thousand men are easily breakable, twenty-five thousand? Not so much. We have to stop them before they reach King's Landing! Winterfell is yours, not some son of a bitch's!"

The woman glanced at him sharply. "When are you marrying Grace, Kit?"

"My Lord?"

The brunette watched him, black eyes narrowed. "When are you marrying Grace, Ser Kit?"

He stared back, chin stuck out. "Before we leave."

OOOoooOOO

Lana had given up on teaching Mary sword fighting, the girl's movements too poor to ever be polished into something that could possibly give any results, but the blonde had amazed the lord with her quick improvements in archery, and she was passable with a dirk or dagger, as the girl had proved when she'd accidentally almost stabbed Lana when the brunette had surprised her from behind. Luckily, Lana was still too quick.

The septa had given up completely on trying to teach the way of the New Gods to her northern charges, instead spending her time learning the ways of the keep and nursing the bruises she received from practice.

Lana watched her as she fitted feathers to carved arrows, her fingers nimble as she worked on making her own breed of fast flying weapons. She thought she knew enough and the brunette would wait to see if it worked in her favor. She raked her black eyes over the girl's face, a light scar raised on her face even though the maester had cleaned and bandaged it properly.

Mary hummed as she glanced up at the lord, a light smile tugging at her lips. The question had long been forecoming. "What are you preparing me for, Lord Stark?"

"You never know when there'll be a war," Lana replied. It hurt her to lie to the girl, it hurt her that all of Winterfell was lying to her. She'd already sent envoys to her allies, the Karstarks and White Harbor, anyone that could have a slight to the Boltons. She herself was three thousand strong, with the men from the keep and the village and the woods. She needed ten thousand to take the Dreadfort on.

If a parlay or a skirmish was to happen, it would have to be before Moat Cailin.

"Come, Mary." Lana held out her hand and the blonde took it, giving her a confused smile. "Ground archery is all good and well, but mounted archery, there's the goal."

"Mounted-?" Mary went to retract her hand but the lord grinned and pulled her along. "On a horse? You're sure?"

Lana turned halfway to eye Mary as they walked to the stables and as she pulled her gloves on. "You need to learn to shoot off the back of your mount. Otherwise, what's the point?"

The blonde's shoulders fell but she followed. Her voice raised again. "Horses aren't my friends, my Lord."

"Don't worry," the brunette laughed. "I'll steer for now, you can just concentrate on your aim."

"You'll steer?" the septa echoed. "We'll, ah, have the same mount?"

"How else do you want me to steer you? Get in here, they don't bite unless you provoke them."

The blue eyed girl passed the stable's threshold but stayed a few feet away. Lana glanced back at her and smiled. "He's back here."

"Who is?"

"My steed," the brunette replied, pride rolling off of her in waves. "Purebred in Dorne and raised by the best from Sunspear. The king's own horse breeder. He had to get used to the temperatures but he's strong against the cold now."

"What's his name?"

Lana paused. "That's funny, I've never been asked that before. I never named him," she admitted. "I name my swords but not my horses. Inanimate objects." She sniffed once and continued to walk down the stables.

"I can't possibly call him 'Dornish Steed'."

"Then don't call him anything," the queen replied. She opened a short gate and stepped into an enclosure, cooing at the horse that stared her down. It turned its night black eyes to Mary and snorted shortly, watching her take a step back. It was at least two heads taller. The blonde watched Lana fetch an apple from inside her coats and hold it out to the equine steed. He took it in one bite of its jaws and Lana passed her hand down her front, grimacing lightly.

"Come here, Mary."

"No."

The queen turned to watch her, frowning. "Mary, don't be afraid. I'm right here."

Blue eyes raked over her and blinked slowly. "I trust you."

"Good. Come here."

The girl inched forward, holding her hand out, her palm flat. She closed her eyes until she met the horse's snout, the skin warm against her own. She shivered, feeling Lana's breath cloud over her ear.

"See? There's no need to be scared."

Mary nodded quickly and retracted her hand. "Yes. I see."

Lana laughed lightly and reached for the reins. The horse had already been fitted to her specifications, the bridle slightly larger than the one that usually held her snuggly so that Mary could fit comfortably with her. She walked the mount out of the stables, pulling Mary after her into the sunlight.

The blonde squealed lightly, surprised, when Lana's hands came around her waist to heave her up onto the horse. The brunette righted her painfully, her fingers on the girl's knee. "Keep your balance."

"I-I'm trying," Mary replied, teeth gritted, her hands tight around the horse's mane. "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Don't worry. Can you shift backwards?"

"I don't think I can move."

"Mary."

"My elbows are locked," the blonde added, almost ashamed of herself and she began to flush, her skin turning pink. Lana sighed softly and took the girl's hand in hers, prying her fingers off the steed, barely flinching as Mary grasped onto her instead.

"Here. Hold onto the sides for a moment."

The girl did as she was told, shoulders arched up and spine rigid, and she watched as Lana fitted her boot into the stirrup and threw her leg over to straddle the horse. The brunette glanced back, smiling lightly when Mary's arms came to hold her, encircling her waist, and her forehead fell to between her shoulder blades.

"Are you alright?"

"No."

"I won't make you shoot today, we'll just ride. Alright?"

Mary nodded tightly, eyes still shut.

The brunette started at a slow pace, the horse walking at a leisurely cant and seemingly enjoying the start, though Mary didn't seem to. When Lana pushed the horse to a light gait and crossed Winterfell's gates, the blonde's hold tightened on her and she whimpered lightly.

"It's alright, Mary, you won't fall," Lana tried, but she didn't say anything more.

The lord shortened the ride out to an hour, the girl's grip not lessening on her but her muscles softening to where Lana thought she'd almost gotten comfortable. She tried not to move too much, the blonde had shifted to rest her head on her shoulder, overlooking her to gaze ahead.

To Lana it felt natural.

Mary relaxed once they turned back for Winterfell, the castle ramparts glittering with ice in the sun.

The brunette heaved herself off the Dornish steed once they reached the stable yard, the girl yelping lightly and grabbing for the reins when she did. Lana began to guide Mary, her fingers grasping onto her hips. "Come on, gently. Foot over the back of the saddle, that's it." She watched the blonde struggle, somewhat amused.

"I think I'm stuck," Mary warned.

"Nonsense, just pass me your-"

The blonde raised from the saddle and started to tip sideways, crying out as she reached for the brunette, but Lana only managed to hold her as they both fell backwards. Mary sat up, her hands on either side of the woman's head, panic in her blue eyes.

"Lana, I'm so sorry! Are you - Why are you laughing?"

The Lord of Winterfell shook her head as she giggled beneath her. "I'm fine, but your face, gods." She moved her hair from her face, peering up. "Are you alright?"

"I told you I was stuck," Mary murmured. "My foot caught in the stirrup. But I'm alright." She shrugged. "You caught me."

"I was in the way," the brunette corrected softly.

"Why are you smiling like that?"

The lord's black eyes shone bright. "It's the first time you've called me Lana."

"I apologize for my indiscretions, Lord Stark," Mary said quickly. She went to stand and Lana sat up.

"No, I don't mind," she protested. "I-" Lana looked away, a flush running up her neck. "Never mind."

"No, tell me," the blonde insisted. She leaned in closer, Lana doing the same until they were flush. "Why wouldn't you?"

"It wouldn't be appropriate."

Mary frowned lightly as she went to take Lana's chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning her head so she could look into her eyes. "You care for me."

"In a way-"

"No, you do. You can't say you don't after all you've done for me." Mary cocked her head to the side. "May I show you that I care, back?" She didn't wait for Lana to answer, instead leaning in and pressing her lips to the lord's. After a moment suspended in air, the brunette surged forward, her hand rushing up to hold the septa by the back of her neck. Mary breathed out through her nose, a moan accompanying the rush of air, and she broke away. "Lord Stark, I'm sorry-"

Lana shook her head and pulled her back down, kissing her quickly, little pecks that Mary answered past her light whimpers.

"Lana-"

"Yeah?"

"Can we," Mary pressed a kiss to the lord's cheek as she pulled back to rest on her thighs. "I do care, a lot, for you but I don't want to rush anything. Not that I'm saying you'd rush anything, you're more than someone who'd rush-"

"Mary, Mary," Lana laughed lightly. She moved her hand to the girl's back, holding her steady. "I understand."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"I just, I'm, I made vows." Mary's shoulders slumped lightly and Lana's smile fell away.

"I understand," the brunette repeated. "Are you alright?"

The blonde nodded softly. "You caught me."

Lana let Mary go inside, the courtyard awkwardly empty as she brushed her horse down and took care of him after his outing, his flank covered in sweat. She wanted to say she could remember what she'd thought of during that time period, but her lips were burning and her mind was blank.

She knew the blonde had gone to take a bath, like they always did after working beneath furs in cold temperatures, the sweat built up uncomfortable and bound to make them sick, as she had been plenty of times as a child, too stubborn to wash. Like any child. She scourged through Winterfell, shoulders up to her ears, as if the men she passed would know what'd happened.

The blonde was standing inside the room, looking down into the pit full of water so hot it made steam as it met the cold air, and she turned to watch Lana, eyebrows pushed together. They had done this before, but now Mary's chest and cheeks were flushed a deep red as she reached up to unbutton her cloak. Lana had half wished that she'd have come in and found the septa already in the bath, and she turned away and they undressed silently, the girl folding her clothes while Lana only dropped hers to the ground in a heap.

The water was scalding and it helped the lord relax somewhat lightly.

They both let their heads fall back against the sides of the bath, the seconds turning into countless minutes.

Mary's breath hitched as Lana raised her arms out of the water to stretch, a little moan falling past her lips. She averted her baby blue eyes briefly before finally following a particular scar up the brunette's side, from her hip to her ribs. Lana smiled softly.

"What are you staring at?"

The blonde stammered. "I, uh, t-that scar. That's all. I'd never noticed it."

The older woman laughed. "You should see my back."

Mary's words came out before she could stop them, or even dare to think about them. "Can I?" She suddenly looked away and blushed to the tips of her ears. The northerner grinned and cooed lightly before slowly making her way over, water rippling tightly as she turned and moved her hair, highlighting her spine and powerful shoulder blades. The blonde sighed out, throat hoarse, at the lines criss-crossing the northern queen's skin. Her fingers came up, tendrils of water falling down her knuckles, and pressed them to the brunette's back.

Lana let her head loll forward as goosebumps broke out, and Mary each explored each scar, deeper than the next. Her hands came around to cup her ribs, the scar she'd first seen, and she couldn't help but notice that that side of her bones dipped in, as if they'd been broken and had mended around rippled skin and ligaments. She paused, eyes raking over the brunette's neck as she felt her breathe against her, lungs expanding slowly while Mary's own breathing struck irregularly.

"It's-" The blonde paused to swallow. "Impressive."

Lana glanced back at her. "It's normal. It's not impressive."

"I think it is," Mary murmured back. "Where did you-?"

"Battle, mostly," the brunette answered. "One's from a kicking horse though. I stepped a little too close." The two shared a smile before Lana faced her head forward. They stayed in relative silence, warm waters softening their muscles and their tongues.

"I have a scar too," Mary offered. She brought her knees up to her chest as Lana turned to face her. She raked her black eyes over the girl, searching. "On my hip," she added. Lana nodded softly.

"What's its story?"

"Oh." The blonde flushed. "It's not, it's not a feat of any kind."

The brunette shrugged. "It doesn't have to be." She moved forward and placed her hands on the girl's knees, pushing them beneath the surface of the water, and her fingers reached out to brush against raised skin. She smiled. "There it is."

Mary nodded, blue eyes bright. "I fell down the stairs."

The older woman looked up. "You what?"

"The stairs. I fell down. I was young," the girl repeated.

Lana laughed lightly. "Oh, my sweet summer child." Mary blushed as Lana pulled her a little closer and placed a tentative kiss on her cheek, at the corner of her lips, glancing down at her. "I'm going to call you Mary Stark, Stepslayer."

The blonde breathed out, flushing at the touch. "Stark?"

"Septas lose their houses when they take their vows. But you're in mine now. Right?" Lana frowned softly at her and she ducked her head to look into Mary's eyes. "Right?" Mary pushed into the hand against her cheek.

"Yes."

Lana smiled brightly as Mary grinned and she pulled her closer until she could hold her, the girl hiding in the crook of her neck. They held each other for what seemed like ages, tumultuous thoughts running through both their heads until the waters had turned cold and they'd begun to shiver against each other. Lana placed her hand against Mary's ribs and she paused as her palm brushed against an erect nipple.

She frowned. "You're freezing."

"I'm wrinkled, mostly," Mary replied. They shared a soft laugh and Lana went to stand, tugging the blonde to her feet and out of the bath.

OOOoooOOO

"My Lord."

Lana glanced up from where her fingers lay on her armrest, eyes narrowed in awe when Mary shifted to intertwine their hands better. The girl sat next to her, the Lord of Winterfell had had a chair moved to the side of the throne so that the septa could sit while Frank took her other chair. Kit had always liked standing better.

But now they were relatively alone, the hall bustling with men moving to and fro inside the castle walls, and Lana's scowl deepened when she noticed her guard breathing hard, his nose and cheeks still flushed from the nipping cold outside. "Yes?"

"Banners, on the horizon."

Fear gripped at the brunette's heart and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she untangled her fingers from Mary's to rest her arm in her lap. She took a moment to think herself through, knowing whoever approached couldn't possibly be the Boltons. "It's a little early for White Harbor to be here."

The guard shook his head. "Not White Harbor, my Lord. The seven pointed star."

Next to the brunette, Mary's breath caught in her throat and she faltered, her nails suddenly digging into Lana's arms. The queen looked to her, mouth open and at a loss for words.

"Lana."

"Mary, I don't think it's-"

The blonde tore away, blue eyes wide and with tears threatening to spill. "No, Lana, I-I need to find my, my robes and _shit_ why is she here?"

The lord stood to follow the girl but she'd already engulfed herself into Winterfell's hallways. She turned to her man. "Keep them off until I come back. Don't take anything from whoever comes."

She found Mary in her solar, dresses and furs thrown haggardly around her room as she fought to find her old clothes, the ones she'd come with and that septas should wear. She murmured frantically to herself, prayers mixed with half-hearted curses and she turned to gaze at Lana.

"I don't know what to do I-"

"It's probably not Jude," Lana tried. "And even if it is, she might just need somewhere to stay again. This doesn't mean anything."

"I just didn't think I'd see her again so soon," Mary stammered.

"She scares the hell out of you, doesn't she."

"You don't even know," the girl replied. She looked away, fingers reaching for another dress. "I've done nothing here in the keep, if she asks-"

"Just lie," Lana said.

Mary had found her seat by Lana's again, knee knocking up and down until the brunette reached over to settle it down, hand on her knee and black eyes against blue, a light frown on the woman's face. She leaned over to whisper encouragingly in her ear and Mary squeezed her wrist before Lana pulled away to face the oaken doors at the end of the hall, head high.

"Alright, let her in."

Septa Jude hadn't changed much in the last few months, a smirk still on her lips and her hazel eyes still unusually bright. She bowed to the lord, Mary, and maester Frank, Kit ignoring her from behind the three, his own dark gaze on the youngest blonde.

"My Lady."

Next to Mary, Lana bristled openly, her knuckles turning white against the hold she had on her wolf adorned throne. She opened her mouth to respond to the golden haired septa with as much animosity as she'd been given, sarcastic bow and all, but the younger septa cut her off.

"Lord," she blurted out, blushing as her voice echoed off the hall's high rafters.

Jude's hazel eyes flitted to Mary momentarily, cold as stone. "Excuse me?"

"Lord," Mary echoed, eyes flashing. "She is Lord Lana Stark of Winterfell, Queen in the North, Warden to the Wall. Not Lady. Her title has not changed since the last time you were here."

The septa turned back to Lana, scowling, but the brunette's hard stare softened her until she placated her with a small smile. "My apologies, my Lord Stark."

"There's nothing to apologize for, Septa Jude. I cannot expect you to remember our ways." The woman watched Mary bite back a grin, and she smiled. "You have traveled long to reach us from King's Landing, and I apologize for making you wait this morning. I had matters to attend to of some importance. How may the north be of help?"

"I come with high septon Timothy's peace."

"And it is taken," Lana said, trying hard to keep the growl from her voice.

"Along with a task of sorts," Jude added. "I am to look upon all our septas in training, and have been traveling for a month now to each castle I left one at, to see if they are doing well."

Lana glanced at Mary. "As you can see, your septa is perfectly healthy."

"You mistaken me, Lord Stark. I am here to see if they are doing what they can for the faith, for the Seven."

"She's doing fine."

"Septon Timothy and I have a different view," the older woman replied easily. "I have only been here an hour and though you have, as you said you would, erected a sept, it is obviously hardly used, and with him and the Seven in mind, I have made a decision that he would most likely agree to."

"And what decision would that be?"

"The girl will be placed somewhere else than the fortress of Winterfell. You have no children to teach, and none inside your walls willing to change faith. You follow the Old Gods, I can see now she came too far north."

Beside Lana, the young blonde had frozen, eyes on the older brunette's voice was hoarse. "Pardon?"

"I'd rather stay, if you wouldn't mind-" Mary tried.

"Mary, your opinion does not count in this matter," Jude replied. She glanced back at Lana. "She will be moved to a household with children of the faith of the Seven, so that she may teach the ways. She cannot here."

"You can't do that," Lana snapped.

"My Lord, with all my respect, yes, I can. She is beneath my jurisdiction, and it would be High Septon Timothy's will."

Lana stood abruptly and Mary cowered back in momentary fear. She turned to watch her, scowling as tears began to fall down the girl's face. She was gasping silently, fingers flexing, wanting to grip at the queen but unable to in front of the septa. Lana turned back to face Jude.

"You can't."

"My Lord Stark-"

"You can't do that," Lana began again, voice rising. "Because I am converting to the Seven." Behind her, Mary let out a small gasp, hand to her mouth. Jude's eyebrows raised to her hairline in surprise.

"You _are_?"

"Your septa, however far away from finishing her training she is, has shown me the error of my ways. I need her by my side to properly show the Seven my allegiance. She cannot leave."

Jude narrowed her eyes. "You would be willing to convert now? Here? In front of your men?"

Lana raised her chin. "Yes. And if I may choose as Lord to Winterfell, I will take the Warrior as my patron."

"You may, and as you wish." The eldest septa bowed lightly. "I will prepare the necessities."

Lana nodded tightly, and without sparing a look at either of them, walked out, her dogs following.

Mary took some time to find her, but when she did, she found the woman pacing back and forth across the aviary's floor, the hay previously in her way pushed to her sides by her strides. The brunette glanced back at her and turned her black eyes back to the floor.

"You didn't have to do that," Mary said softly, blue eyes bright with shed tears.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to apologize, I'm only saying it wasn't necessary." The girl took a small step forward. "But I am grateful." Lana nodded and she resumed her pacing. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Then don't. Nothing's been done yet."

"Lana."

The brunette turned, eyeing the girl critically. The blonde took the last few steps needed and crashed into her, embracing her waist with lithe arms, and Lana wrapped her own around her after a split second.

She whispered in her ear. "I'm not letting you go, Mary, I'm not letting you be taken away. You belong to the north."

Mary nodded into her, eyes screwed shut. She stood on the ball of her feet and kissed Lana softly, sweetly, and Lana moved to pull away but the blonde's grip on her collar kept her anchored to the girl.

She didn't let go until Kit called them down to the hall, and even then she kept her hand in Lana's until she couldn't anymore. Jude did not ask for her help with the ceremony, and instead Mary stood to the side by the maester, worrying her bottom lip. Lana's black eyes were on Mary's bright blues, and as the blonde looked on grimly, Lana only half listened to the older septa before her. She cared more about the in and out of the girl's chest as she breathed, and she found herself matching her shallow rhythm.

OOOoooOOO

"What kind of faith does not allow you to fight for yourself?"

Lana turned on herself to gaze at Mary. The girl had followed her up to her rooms and her dogs had taken refuge on the door's outside, their tails whapping sporadically on it. The brunette hadn't asked why she'd been tracked but she didn't care much to.

She raised an eyebrow in question, motioning for her to continue.

"It seems my opinion doesn't matter when it comes to decisions that would alter the course of my own life. Ever since I decided to become a septa I've been taught to follow orders and I never realized how destructive it was until I came to be somewhere that I actually enjoyed," the girl said softly, eyes on the window. "And when I try to speak up, I'm shot down." She looked at Lana. "What kind of faith is that?"

"Are you about to break your vows? I've only just converted, it'd be a detrimental to me."

The girl sighed as she smiled, shaking her head, but she sobered. "What will I do if I do stray from my path?"

"Live your life," Lana replied. "There's no reason not to, you'd only limit yourself." She moved to sit by the blonde and took her hand in hers. "You've always a place here at Winterfell, I wouldn't push you away."

Mary nodded softly as she leaned in. "I can't understand why you did what you did," The blonde admitted, mouth by the brunette's ear. "I can't understand why you'd fall to her level to keep me. But I feel like I know. Even if I don't comprehend, I know."

The northern queen shifted back on the bed until her back hit the headboard and she pulled the girl to her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders when Mary settled down against her chest.

"Lana, there's something else I know," the girl added quietly. "As crazy as it is, as sudden as it may be."

"I have a feeling that's never stopped you before," Lana teased. "And what would this knowledge be?"

"I love you."

The brunette glanced down at the blonde, wondering if she'd feel her heart hammering, and she moved her hand to tangle their fingers together on her waist. "I love you too."

The girl laughed lightly and tugged her closer. "Have I melted your northern heart?"

"With your southern smile."

OOOoooOOO

The sun was coming up above the wintry plains but Lana ignored it, black eyes averted on the blonde by her side instead. The girl'd pulled off her dress and the furs up to her chin the night before and they rested on her shoulders now as she breathed lightly, hair undone and fanned out on the pillow.

The brunette shifted to hold her properly, her arm tugging the blonde back against her so that she held her front to back and Mary sighed in her sleep, her head nudging back to fit against Lana's. The brunette smiled softly, pressing her lips to the skin beneath the girl's ear.

Her hand traveled beneath the covers to rest against Mary's ribs and she begun to trace circles and patterns with her fingertips, traveling between the underneath of her breasts and her hips. She paused momentarily to press another kiss to the girl's scalding skin. She grasped onto the furs and pulled them down so they pooled against Mary's pelvis and she watched goosebumps raise on ivory skin, dark eyes flitting between her hand resting on a sharp hip and pebbled nipples.

Mary's blue eyes opened slowly and she breathed out before uttering Lana's name, voice broken with exhaustion. Her fingers intertwined with the ones on her body and she nestled back into the queen, no space left between them. She smiled when Lana craned her neck to kiss her cheek, eyes slipping shut and the attention lulling her back to sleep. The brunette moved to the back of her neck and she bit lightly, running along the expanse of skin on her shoulders. Her teeth sank in and she latched on, sucking tightly.

"You're going to mark me." The blonde's voice was tired but she didn't pull away. Lana laughed lightly as she trailed up to the girl's ear, nipping at her lobe instead.

"I'm trying to." The queen kissed her skin again. "Do you mind?"

"Gods, no, I-" The blonde trailed off and she sighed again, a blush running up her neck. Lana followed it with her fingers until she cupped the girl's jaw, thumb rubbing circles into it.

"You what?"

"I don't mind."

"And?"

Mary shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak but her breath caught in her throat and she looked down at her chest, lungs rattling. She watched Lana's hand move to her body, running the tip of her fingers along her nipple and the swell of her breast. She turned in Lana's arms, her own wrapping around the woman's strong waist and she kissed her softly, shifting so that Lana could hold her better. The queen's leg wrapped around her hip and she smiled, a hint of wonder in her eyes.

"You're all warm."

Lana hummed back. "So are you."

"I don't mean-"

The brunette kissed her quickly. "I know what you mean." Her hand trailed down to rest on the girl's hip but she didn't stay there, she voyaged over her skin and she pulled Mary closer, their sides meshing and meeting. She canted her hips up and the blonde whined softly into her mouth as she grinned. "Does that feel good?"

Mary nodded furiously, her hands running up to anchor in chestnut locks and she kissed the queen harder, unable to answer in words what she was feeling. She managed to get the woman's name out and it ran into itself as she repeated it between embraces. Her voice was breaking. "I want-Lana, Lana I wish you would-"

"You'd want me to what?" Lana trailed her lips to the muscles in the girl's throat and she sucked on her pulse point, tongue against her heartbeat. "You've never done this."

"Teach me, Lana, _please_ teach me, I want you to."

Lana smiled into their kiss, pulling the girl down in their bed to rise above her, angling the blonde's jaw up. She twisted a nipple between her thumb and her forefinger and Mary breathed out tightly. She pushed into the brunette's touch and Lana twisted farther and farther until she cried out and she leaned in to swallow her gasps, tongue diving into her mouth. She rubbed soothingly into Mary's breast, palm against her hard nipple.

"What _do_ you know?"

Mary blushed, her fingers against Lana's and tracing circles into her own skin. "Nothing, absolutely nothing. But I want it to be you. That shows me." She breathed in. "What I don't know."

Lana kissed her cheek, grinning, her tone teasing. "You're stuttering again." Mary whined lightly, fingers grasping to pull the brunette closer. Lana's hand wrapped around the blonde's thigh and she hitched the girl's leg around her hip.

She spoke softly into Mary's ear as her fingers trailed down to rest against her, between her legs, shifting lightly. "See how wet you are?" she asked softly. Mary nodded furiously, breath puffing out as she hid into the crook of Lana's neck. "This is how wet I need you for me."

"All the time?"

Lana grinned. "That's not exactly how it works, but-" She kissed Mary. "I'm going to make you feel so good that whenever you see me, you'll be dripping."

The blonde shuddered wildly in her arms but she managed to nod. Lana brushed past her clit and she gasped and she moaned when the queen began to rub light circles into her, nuzzling her nose with her own.

"It's like-"

Lana hummed, spurring her on.

"It's like fire. I-I just-" Mary paused to groan and her hips knocked into the brunette's. "Oh _please_ , fix it, fix whatever this is."

The brunette nodded quickly and Mary kissed her again through the uncertainty of what was happening, trembling lightly. She aquiesced with a shake of her head when Lana asked if she was sure, and then nodded again when she asked once more, tugging her closer.

She hissed out as Lana moaned and pushed her finger up to her knuckle into her wet warmth, and she shifted lightly when the brunette paused, groaning into her neck.

"God you feel so nice."

Mary blushed deeply, her ivory skin turning a light shade of pink. "You feel n-nice too." Lana smiled and watched the blonde's mouth drop open as she begun to pump her finger in and out of her slowly. Mary could feel herself becoming slick and Lana drove in a little harder, but she didn't change her pace.

Mary's hip bumped into her hand and she moaned lightly, eyes begging for more and Lana kissed her softly, feeling the blonde soften around her. She kissed her until she'd relaxed and fallen into the covers around her and her spine had stopped its bristling. The brunette pushed her shoulder blades to lay flat on the bed and she straddled her, fingers slipping out of her so she could cradle her head and kiss her again. Mary moaned, her cheek wet with herself.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" Lana bent down to catch the girl's nipple between her teeth. She bit at the peak and swirled her tongue around the soft flesh and smiled when Mary cried out. The girl tugged at her hair, her fingers in brown locks, and Lana trailed up to bite at her pulse point, sucking on where she'd left a mark.

Her hand traveled down the blonde's body and she found her center again. Her fingertips swirled in wetness and she pushed in between her folds as far as she could go. Mary arched underneath her, keening lightly, and sought out Lana's mouth with her own and she moaned into their embrace, her hips pushing up and off the bed. Lana pumped in and out of her, murmuring in her ear and spurring her on between little giggles as Mary nodded violently.

The brunette pressed kisses to her cheeks and her jaw as the blonde came, hips jutting up and her blue eyes slipping shut as she cried Lana's name out. Her fingers dug into Lana's arm and Lana shook her off lightly, wrapping her own around her waist and pulling her closer as Mary's lower body kept shifting.

Lana smiled when Mary finally did, her eyes still closed in light bliss. "Good morning," she murmured, her lips upturned against warm skin. The blonde hummed back, fingers seeking out the brunette's and intertwining with hers. She turned into the queen's body and hid her face into the crook of the woman's neck, pressing light kisses to the muscles in her throat.

The brunette glanced down, her lisp apparant. "Mary?"

"Hmm?"

"Was that alright?"

The blonde pulled away, eyes scanning the older woman, and she finally smiled. She leaned in and kissed Lana and slipped her tongue into her mouth, pulling her closer with her hands around her ribs. The brunette embraced her back, pecking her lips quickly.

"Is that a yes?"

Mary nodded, blue eyes blazing. She bit her lower lip. "Do it again."

The brunette grinned.

OOOoooOOO

Winterfell was a bustle of life, its courtyards and ramparts and fields before the gates filled with men from all parts of the north. Ser Kit had, for a month, gone out and recruited the able-bodied men, the ones old enough and young enough, to fight for Lana and for her name, her virtue. They had responded easily to the call, wanting nothing to do with the Dreadfort and the horrific stories that came from the keep, no more than its potential rule. The castle was full in occupancy, many once alone in their homes now sharing their beds with others from the woods and from farther north and the ones that could not fit inside the walls were outside in gray battalion tents. The ones too poor to own their own armor and sword had been fitted to gleam beneath the snow sun.

Mary now knew of the mass movement and hadn't been originally thrilled, but she said nothing now as Lana reviewed the troops on her Dornish steed with Kit, who had had her officiate his wedding the night before to Grace, her belly protruding and little Julia with her hands in both her father's and her new mother's, whom she loved very much.

She paced through the lines that had made themselves up for her passing, the men bowing and calling out her and her sword's name as she trotted past and herself asked them questions. Some were no older than her and many had wives, and she couldn't help but want to hide in her furs and not meet their gazes, but she was a commander and a commander knew her men.

She walked back to her own tent and left her mount to a squire, Kit following closely with his dark gaze on the darker sky, and she pressed a quick kiss to Mary's cheek as she found her on a chair, speaking low with Maester Frank.

"We'll leave tomorrow at dawn, after breakfast has been taken," Lana announced. She ripped her cloak off and draped it across a free chair. "I can't spare you a horse, Mary."

The blonde snapped her head up. "What? You can't leave me here."

"I can't spare you a horse, Mary," Lana repeated. "But yours has just arrived from Bear Island. You thought I'd leave you here? I can't, not when the Boltons have men scourging the snows for my loose ends. I need you safe with me." She turned away, muttering. "This is all my fault, all these men you see out there, and I won't have you be another loss to me." She glanced at Kit. "I should have finished what my father started four yours ago, I have to get him before he gets me."

"We will," he assured her.

"I have something else for you," Lana added, turning back to gaze at Mary. The girl blushed and started to protest but the queen waved her off and went to a box that the blonde had wondered about all morning but not asked. She pulled the blonde out of her seat and to her and unlocked the chest.

"They're yours to keep and to use. Protect yourself in any way you can," Lana murmured. The girl's mouth had fallen open in awe at the weapons sitting inside the box, masterfully crafted in Winterfell's forgeries. The lord watched her pick the first one up, made of a darker silver then the other. "The short bow, named Stranger's Reprieve."

"Bows are named?" Mary asked quietly, blue gaze devouring the work.

"No, but yours are. The long one is Mother's Deliverance."

"Lana, I can't, I can't thank you enough."

"Try it on," Lana urged.

The girl took Stranger and picked at an arrow, those too crafted of silver painted wood and heavily accounted for in the quiver, and the older woman followed her out of the tent with Kit and the maester. She knocked it to the string and pulled back, not needing Lana's strength anymore to cock her fingers to rest against her mouth, and she aimed for a barrel twenty feet off.

It flew in one fluid motion to embed itself in the ceramic jug sitting atop it, the vial breaking into a dozen pieces, and Mary turned, blue eyes reflecting her hair in the momentary sunlight and giving her a golden gaze as she grinned.


	4. Girl With One Eye

**Headcanoned with an beta-ed by graceonce**

 **Rated M for violence and language.**

 ** _One Month Before the Battle of Visenya's Hill_**

He couldn't help but squint disapprovingly at the clouds covering the sky, low and meshing into one so that it threatened rain, and he almost wanted to let out a sigh, though he knew it would do no good. The weather rarely listened.

He prayed, in a way, that it did rain, that such a gale was brought on that nothing could be done to save the afternoon. It would have to be cancelled, he would lament on how he had wanted to fight his way to victory for his lady, that all he wanted was her favor and he would bend on one knee and beg her for it anyway. Surely her mother would reply for her, in a tone somewhere between gentle disgust and tepid fascination at such a display, and he would rise, a fabricated blush running up his neck.

He grimaced. He had no want to, but it would have to be done. Anything other than showing his love for the girl and he would be ostracized from both families and from both sides of the stands. But it would be better than fighting for her. He couldn't help but hate the way she stared at him, as if calculating her way through the world, eyes dead to him, glazed over. He couldn't do it, couldn't take his horse up to her and extend his hand and wait for her colored ribbon. Couldn't ever put on his armor for her.

Now he found himself begging for the rains to come.

He turned in the sanded pit and made his way to the wooden stands, throwing his leg and then the other over the side, not bothered to go find the stairs. He marched up the steps and glanced back over his shoulder.

He had to admit the contraption was a well engineered one. The pit had been dug into the earth with the stands's last steps at ground level, so that any could see into the ring. A difference from the usual arenas, but the owner had wanted to make one. The middle was broken in two by raised logs, portable from the looks of it and for later in the afternoon, when the hand to hand combats would happen. He shifted his shoulders beneath his tunic, already feeling the weight of his sword, a comfortable weight that had him breathing easier. He continued down to where the queen's box would be erected soon and quickly, left there for the moment by the workers as they went to fetch water for their parched throats.

He sneered lightly at the green intertwined with gold and red on the threads that would cover the box. Only two of the colors really belonged to the queen, and he himself thought the mix was garish, but he hadn't been asked for his opinion.

Hank Baratheon, as the youngest heir to the Stormlands, rarely was.

He paced back around the box, finding it would fit only a handful of the new queen's entourage, the brightest stars she could have to mark her position in the night sky as rightful ruler of Westeros and its seven kingdoms.

She had had nothing to do with the unifying of them, so long ago, she'd only married into the Lannister name weeks before the old king had died, and without heirs, the country fell back to her. And now the men stirred. She was a woman with new ranks and new loyalties and too many enemies, she would have a hard time keeping it all for herself.

Though the gods knew Fiona Lannister, née Tyrell, was trying hard.

Hank had begged his older brother to rush for the iron throne, to rush for King's Landing with one army and to let a garrison, commanded by himself, loose at Casterly Rock. But instead he'd been sent down to Highgarden, seat of one half of the woman's name, to join in the festivities of her crowning, to attend and take part in the tournament held for her.

To marry her daughter.

His brother had always been a cowardly one, one to take treaties and backhanded marriages to affirm his position instead of fighting for it like any man would. He'd concocted the half-hearted plan with the Lannister matriarch, had promised his little brother to her own offspring. The stag would be married into both the lion's den and the rose bush, thorns and all, and the union would be stronger than any before.

Hank spit onto the ground. He wondered if Fiona knew that his new wife would have an unfortunate accident days after their marriage. He'd paid the sellswords himself with his brother's gold coins, he just had to slip that ring around her finger and her death warrant would be signed. It didn't matter to him, she was a tragedy to look upon. He'd seen whores from Essos that looked better than she, no matter how slim her waist could be or how pretty her voice sounded or how nice she was. Her face left much to be desired. He shivered lightly in the breeze at the thought of her. He'd asked his brother if she could be killed before he had to bed her.

Chad Baratheon had told him to just close his eyes.

He thought of fighting for her in the tournament again and he wanted to find the nearest inn to drink to forget.

He began his walk back towards the keep, and he mused that the place should have been called Highgardens, there were so many and he was so far off from the castle. He was glad now he'd taken his horse to the pit, and he untied it from one of the posts he'd found a dozen meters off, rounding it before climbing up onto its spine.

It took him a half an hour at a leisurely stroll to reach the castle's gates and he crossed into the first of the courtyards, tilting his head back to let out a sigh when he saw a guard flag him down from a hundred feet off. He wanted to run.

But his boot caught in his stirrup and he took too long swinging off his mount.

"Lord Hank!"

"Yes, yes," he snapped. "What is it?"

"Lady Fiona requests your presence," the footman replied, following the stag as he began to walk away, heels snapping quickly. "In the peach garden."

Hank grunted back and the man took it as a way out and he fell behind, leaving the Baratheon man to himself as he walked past one of the countless marble colonnades that he so hated here in the Reach. He hated those and he hated the musicians and story-tellers that filled the place. He had some issues finding the garden he'd been summoned to, the keep was a maze, but when he did he straightened his back and slowed his walk and put on the nicest smile he could muster. He spied the Tyrell matriarch, now a Lannister yet never to him, but his blood ran cold at the sight of Fiona standing with her daughter.

They turned to him and he threw them a half-hearted grin, hoping it would come off well.

Fiona was as blonde as any of the other Tyrells, her hair receptive to the sun, though not as bleached as some Dornishmen's, and she was tall, graceful, slender. She was astonishing now as an aging woman, and he could only guess as to how beautiful she had been as a girl. Her daughter was the spitting image of her if not slightly taller, her waist smaller, and horribly disfigured.

Cordelia Tyrell had fallen ill to greyscale as a child, and though she had lived (praise the Gods, he figured), she was hideous. The entire right side of her face was wrinkled with silver like scales, the skin papery rough, and though her eyes were black by nature, the right one was dead blue. She'd been half-blinded by the disease. She might have been pretty if not for the mutilation.

He leaned in to kiss her left cheek, wincing lightly when she pressed forward to meet him halfway (She wasn't contagious anymore, Chad had said, but he couldn't help but be cautious.), and he kissed Fiona's hand lightly when she held it out for him.

"Lord Baratheon, how are you?" Cordelia asked softly, and she angled her face to gaze at him with her functioning eye, all the while hiding the right side of her face, something that both irked and bothered him.

Everyone knew of her plight, why would she hide it? Others would only try harder to see.

He forced a smile. "Anxious to fight for you this afternoon, Lady Cordelia."

"Surely you will bring honor to both our houses," Fiona said lightly.

Hank bowed. "All three. You wished to see me?"

"Yes. Cordelia, darling?"

The girl let out a small 'oh' as she glanced quickly between the Lannister and the Baratheon, her vision distorted, and she bit the inside of her cheek. "Do you not wish me to stay?"

"Myrtle is waiting for you in the hallway," Fiona replied. Her daughter nodded softly and took a moment to curtsy to Hank before walking away quickly, arms tight at her sides as they watched her.

Hank turned to the queen once the younger woman was out of earshot. "Myrtle?"

"Myrtle Snow, her handmaiden."

"A northern bastard," he noted, and gave the blonde a wry smile. "Will I have to take her back to Storm's End with me, along with your daughter?"

"She's staying with me, unfortunately," Fiona added. "Cordelia will most likely make a fuss but she'll have to grow out of her nanny."

 _I would hope so, she's twenty-one_. "A handmaiden usually follows her lady. I was merely asking, forgive me."

Fiona waved her hand vaguely. "Walk with me, Lord Hank."

He fell into step with her easily, shadowing her and watching the guards from the corner of his eye. They gazed at him as untrustingly as he did them, and he knew it was from the mutual feeling he had for the queen and she for him. Or the lack thereof.

"I wish you to carry my new banner at the tournament this afternoon," the blonde finally said as she crossed beneath a column.

"My queen, such an honor-"

"Yes, yes," Fiona cut him off impatiently. "Do keep your flatteries and your conniving ways to yourself. I don't like you and we both know you know I don't particularly enjoy your company." She put one heeled foot in front of the other as she scowled. "If I'd been smart, I'd have asked for a dowry, but your house is as poor as anybody's."

"Why marry me to your daughter then?"

"You mistake me if you think I care whatever poor schmuck she marries, as long as she doesn't stay to darken my reputation any longer. The girl is past her birthing age at this point. I'm sure you'll have a few babies but I can't promise they'll be blond cherubs."

Hank turned away to grimace, but he kept his voice steady. "I'm sure the Mother will bless us."

"Until she does, you carry my sigil," Fiona said. "I am the queen, the one true ruler, of Westeros. Go, Lord Hank, the tournament is but a few hours away and surely you need your rest."

He bowed low and left through the next arch, his step quick. The Lannister queen took the next staircase up to the balconies. There the sun shone and from the height the second floor portico gave she could see into the extended gardens. The nearest to the keep were the most populated, the graveled ways strewn about with men and women in brightly colored cloths, their white skins tanned and healthy, but one stood empty. The family's private garden.

There Cordelia sat on a marble bench, her back to a column and her knees to her chest, a book against her thighs. Fiona couldn't help the sneer she held for her girl and she didn't wipe it off when Myrtle Snow came up the stairs behind her a minute later. She was joined at the ramp and she leaned heavily onto her elbows, the red headed woman daintily placing her hands on it instead.

"She was so pretty, Myrtle. Like if the Maiden herself had sculpted her from marble. Black eyes and silky blonde hair," the queen muttered.

"Like her mother."

Fiona _tsk_ ed, annoyed. "Don't flatter me, Snow," she hissed out the bastard's name. "That sickness hit her and _now_ look at her. I should be glad she didn't die but when I look at her, I can't help but wish the Stranger'd taken her." The woman gazed down into the gardens, at her daughter reading in her usual nook.

"I see silky blonde hair. And a black eye that reflects the sun, and a blue one that reflects the sky."

"A dead sky," Fiona snapped back. "What of her scars?"

"Like a world. A map to her years. They add a certain beauty to her."

"Seven hells, woman, stop with your romantic bullshit. No one'll ever love her. I was lucky to find her a second born son in a somewhat decent household for her."

"Because love has something to do with marriage now?"

The alluring blonde turned to give the redhead a measured glare, full of warning. Myrtle's blue eyes did not leave hers though, and the head of house finally turned back to watch Cordelia, down below the balcony. The bastard took a step forward and did the same. Her gloved hand landed on Fiona's.

"Don't act like you care, Fiona. It's beneath you."

"Why do I keep you around, Myrtle?"

"I was your late husband's spoil of war," the woman replied. "Why _do_ you keep me around? Perhaps you enjoy the frivolity of torturing yourself."

The blonde scowled at her. "That must be it. War is coming, you know? I was sent a raven last night and I'm needed in the capital. The Boltons of the Dreadfort and the Starks are moving down in some race, one after the other. Oliver Bolton wants an alliance and promises me the North if I decimate Lana Stark. He has a claim to her keep and she wants to hear none of it."

"Would this alliance benefit you?"

"What should I care for the northerners' quarrels?"

"The Boltons would give you free access to their realm, if it was theirs, but only the Starks can hold it down. Oliver would lose it in a fortnight."

"If I moved my armies inside, he could hold the kingdom."

"Will you help?"

Fiona turned away from the woman. "I have no reason to send my men to the North or to the Stranger."

OOOoooOOO

The weather had held and the tournament had started in Highgarden's new arena, and while the music played and Westeros's wealthy citizens sat themselves down in the stands, the day's players took to their horses to begin the ceremony that would lead them around the ring before the fighting begun.

Hank Baratheon took the head of the procession and came up to follow the ramp, his helmet mounted with a set of antlers and his horse night black and his armor given a bronzed sheen so he could match his family colors, but the banner he held was not his, not a stag but a crowned golden lion with a rose in its claws on a field of crimson.

The crowd cheered enthusiastically and Fiona beamed, chest pushed out as her royal sigil was paraded around the sanded pit, the man followed by lesser houses and their knights portraying them. In his free hand he held a red rose, and the women sitting in the boxes fixed their hair and their necklines, waiting as he passed and hoping he would pause, but he walked on until he stood before Cordelia Tyrell. He bowed his head, raised his visor, and handed her the flower that she took carefully.

He ambled his horse closer to stand flush to the wooden rail. "Do take this as a token of my faith."

"Thank you, Lord Hank," Cordelia said. She took her time to undo the satin ribbon around her wrist and gently tied it around his arm as he spoke to her.

"Who have I been pitted against?" Hank asked.

"I don't know," she admitted. "They've only just done the drawings."

"It'd better not be a Clegane, I won't last the afternoon," the knight grumbled back. "Give me a Lannister any day."

"I do believe a Lannister of Lannisport entered the draw," the woman replied softly. "But none came from Casterly Rock. They unfortunately couldn't come."

Hank's eyebrows raised and he snorted. "We both know they care nothing for your mother."

"That could be why, yes. In any case, I wouldn't want you winning against one, it would only wedge the hatred between our families, and since they are now ours to rule, that wouldn't work quite well."

"You'd want me to give up?"

Cordelia dropped her gaze. "No, I'd want you to do your best. And to conveniently fall off your horse."

Hank went to snap back but he whirled around as his name was called over the field.

" _Lord Hank Baratheon in tournament against the Mudfish_."

His sigil was hoisted up onto the calling board, and he scowled at the one accompagnying his.

"It's the Tully bitch."

Cordelia whipped her head up, staring at the newcomer and its horse ambling ahead, its rider's face hidden behind a lizard lion maw shaped helmet. "A woman?" she murmured.

The cavalier's armor was old, dull, the chainmail made to resemble scales to match the helmet, though many were broken and the others seemed to be melted together, as if fire had burned the soul inside and had left a creaking hull. She had no protection to her right arm save the wrist and shoulder guard. The blonde half wondered if the person inside truly lived.

"This'll be over quickly," Hank grunted. He reached up to close his visor, the metal clanging against itself, and he spurred his horse and trotted away.

Cordelia let her black eye rake the supposed girl again before turning to Myrtle Snow at her side.

"The Mudfish?"

The redhead glanced sideways at her. "Misty Tully of Riverrun."

"But why the Mudfish?"

"Riverrun is a ruin now, only the ruined live there. She lived for many years in the Neck under House Reed's protection, thus the lizard-lion she adopted as her armor, and the mudfish from the swamps. Rather out of class, if you ask me. Mudfish are nuisant creatures."

"I've never heard of her."

"Her house was erased from the books when your step-father, bless his soul, fought for Westeros's unity beneath his rule. Riverrun may be the capital of the Riverlands, but it's only able to keep itself sustained now, the rest of the country relies heavily on its neighboring allies, though they have few. She is one of the only survivors from her direct line. I don't even think she inhabits the keep now, but it's no place for a lady. Though she doesn't dress like one, in any case," Myrtle finally said, a light hint of disgust in her eyes.

"Seven hells," Cordelia muttered. She hadn't known how dearly the family had paid. Not that anyone talked about the wars.

"She fights to win money now. A beggar, in her own way," Myrtle added. "It's how she eats, she'd rather battle her way to survival than take from the men who work and toil for their own."

"It's honorable."

"It's stupid," Fiona said from behind them. Cordelia turned to watch her mother, but had nothing to add, not beneath the cold hazel gaze.

They all turned their attention back to the arena as a trumpet sounded. Hank had been sent to the right, a squire holding his ten foot blunted lance for him as he fixed his hands into his armored gloves, while the Tully girl had taken the left, no one there to hold her weapon as she settled into her saddle. She did a few circles on herself, gaze beneath the helmet's teeth traced on her opponent.

"Would it be wrong of me to bet on Hank? He might be a dolt, but at least he's got equipment that doesn't look like it's going to fall apart," Fiona sighed. "What a sad day to put money on a Baratheon."

"His armor is clean, well polished," Cordelia mused quietly. "It's never been used."

The drums rolled and the horses took off, quickly taking speed over the hundred feet and reaching for the middle. The Tully rider brought her lance down first, out of form and slightly awkwardly, while Hank's arm came down smoothly and square for his target.

They hit each other's shields, the Mudfish taking another dent to its already hammered outside and splinters flying off, Hank's lance breaking cleanly in two. He seemed angry from up in the stands, calling down to his squire for a new lance and holding out his hand impatiently, while the girl jumped down from her mount and fetched her own.

The second round didn't give much more result for either of them, but for the Mudfish holding her wrist at an awkward angle and the Baratheon lord tugging on his reins so hard they could have broken. Cordelia wished the third round would be done so that the Tully ascendant could leave, winning or not, safely. She knew Hank would absolutely lose it once off the field, no matter the final score, and she hoped the girl would be well on her way to Riverrun by then.

Thundering hooves rang out, echoed by the crowd, as they rushed each other one last time. Hank ran his mount faster and he met her stronger than before. The Tully's arm came down, the lance slipping, and the tip crashed into his horse's upper thigh. The horse reared, a tortuous scream ripping out of its throat and it fell onto its side, Hank falling beneath it and yelling out shortly as his opponent ran past. The beast laid there for a long moment before it whined and struggled to stand on three working legs.

The girl was ripping her helmet off, golden curls falling to her shoulders as she threw it to the side and flung herself off her horse, broken lance long forgotten. She slid onto her knees next to Hank and sat him up, pushing at his own helmet to get it off his head as his horse walked away limping, and it landed onto the sand. A gasp went around the stands followed by a few short screams and the Mudfish looked up, lost and a cry for help written in her blue-green eyes.

He had been completely crushed.

He was dead.

OOOoooOOO

For once in the Reach, it rained profusely, water falling off the castle's bright red tiled roofs and onto marble walkways, wetting the already green pastures.

Chad Baratheon was used to pollution and light showers full of acid that turned to smoke when it reached the ground, and the somber expressions that met him at every corner felt like home, but these were not for the weather or for worse-for-wear lifestyles, but for the death of his younger brother. He'd been able to come down quickly but it had already been a few hot days, and he hoped the body wouldn't smell by the time he traveled back home with it.

He strode through the keep on his horse, a light sneer on his face as rain pelted down onto his black hair. His men walked behind him in the colors of Storm's End, their heads down so that their helmets deflected the falling water somewhere else than their necks and down their chainmail. He had come with a small battalion as he had no wish to stay long in Highgarden, just enough that Hank's carcass could be dragged over the Roseroad. He would be buried with his ancestors, not here in this sweet smelling capital of vipers.

At the end of the way stood a small crowd underneath one of the main porticos, a few blondes and a redhead that made his eyes water like the sky, and he looked away to sigh out, his chest imitating the movement of a deep breath as he placed his free hand at the junction between his hip and thigh. Though his father had been on the Lion King's side during the wars and though they had been well rewarded for their support when he had taken the iron throne, he himself had never trusted him. Though he hardly trusted anyone.

Hank had called it a superiority complex. He called it intelligence.

He pulled on his reins and his horse came to a stop before the crowd, a curtain of rain separating him from them, and he slid to the ground, boots splashing into a puddle.

"Lord Chad, this was not how I had expected to meet you, finally," Fiona said, bowing lightly. He bent at the waist back, his movements stiff yet relaxed. "Please accept my deepest apologies."

"I had told him the tournament wasn't a good idea," he replied. "Forgive my appearance, the weather has not been kind."

She nodded at him and he crossed beneath the roof, taking the time to press a kiss to a girl with a dead eye, knowing from his brother's letters that she was his fiancée, or had been. She wasn't as ugly as he'd made her out to be, but Hank had always been dramatic.

"Lady Cordelia, I extend my hand to your loss."

"It is kind of you," the blonde said softly. "I only wish I had gotten to know him better."

He watched her but she wouldn't meet his gaze with either eye. "Yes."

"Come, it's warm and dry inside, and we have enough to replenish you and your men," Fiona called.

Chad turned to his captain of guard and nodded, and the man marched the regiment to where the Highgarden guard led them. The Baratheon extended his arm and, smiling, the Lannister queen took his elbow. She glanced back at her daughter and scowled and Cordelia shrugged, staying back with Myrtle instead of following the pair.

Like she'd promised, Chad found her solar to be warm and inviting and though it stormed outside, it seemed as if the sun came through the glass roof in an orange glow, a trick of lights and mirrors on warm wood. He took the seat she motioned to and pushed back his cloak, raising an eyebrow when a footman came up to take it from around his neck. Fiona waved the boy away.

"How long will you stay, Lord Chad?"

"Two days, at most. I am only here to fetch my brother, what's left of him." He grimaced. "How bad was the fall?"

"He might have survived if his horse had not crushed him," Fiona said. "Wine?" Chad nodded and she reached for a pitcher.

Fiona looked to the outside as she mulled her thoughts over. "You wouldn't happen to want a wife, would you?"

Chad laughed lightly as she reached for the glass he was handed, the liquid blood red inside. He shook his head as he drank, making a negative noise before he placed the cup back on the table. "Dornish?"

"The Arbor. Don't let the Redwynes hear you'd think their wine tastes like Dornish piss."

"The rain must have dulled my senses, it is rather sweet," he admitted. "Are you so desperate to marry your daughter that you'd give her to any man forthcoming?"

"At this point?" She laughed as she rounded the table to sit herself down. "I had her sent away as a child but she was destined to come back. She's a little too smart for her own taste, she has too much lip."

"Like her mother?"

Fiona's smirk grew and Chad held out his glass to toast her.

At least Cordelia's would-be murderer would reimburse him.

"Was it accidental?" Chad asked. "Hank's death."

The woman's eyebrow raised. "Are you looking for it not to be?"

"Accidents are accidents until they're not. Who was he against?"

"The Tully girl."

"The Tully girl?" he echoed. "They live? Amazing, and here I thought we'd killed them all."

"She's been hiding in the Neck. With the fish," Fiona enunciated. "She's just moved back into her ruins, maybe she's finally growing into her father's boots."

"It's hard to," Chad said. "Are you going to let her?"

"If she stays nice and serviable, why not? There must be a hundred souls in that keep and she has no standing army to speak of unless you count the villagers. She's not a threat, I would let her inhabit her home again."

"You already have control over the Riverlands but with her patronage, none would riot," the man mused.

"An order is easier taken from a friend than from a stranger," she added. "And with what's just happened, she's bound to do everything I say. Pardon me using the situation."

"Don't apologize, I never cared for Hank," Chad said. "He had an ego and a temper and a thing for killing whores. He was messy." He settled back in his chair. "And now I know I won't wake up with a dagger in my intestines."

"You do not care for whores, or for cleaning up after whores?" Fiona asked.

The Baratheon smiled softly as he cocked his head to the side, humming.

OOOoooOOO

"Lady Cordelia!"

The blonde's steps faltered and she turned halfway to give Myrtle Snow a puzzled look, the voice was foreign to her, and her lady-in-waiting only stared back, as lost as she was. She turned the entire way, gaze scanning the colonnade, and she paused seeing a tall figure barreling for her, running lightly to catch up to them before they could turn a corner and disappear out of view. The figure called her name again, a hint of relief to her tone since she'd looked back, but two guards came from the rain, hidden behind a column and shadowing Cordelia, and blocked her, their lances in a cross over her chest. The Tyrell ascendant took a moment to watch her and her crestfallen expression. She hadn't changed out of her armor from the tournament the day before, sand in between scales and dirt caked on the back of her thighs, but she'd thankfully left her fishing spear and her helmet in her rooms, her wild curls falling over her shoulders.

"Let the Mudfish through, please," Cordelia called after a second. The guards did as they were told, disappearing back into the keep's numerous walkways from where they'd come to keep an eye on her.

The blue-green eyed girl smiled lightly and moved to be but a few feet from her, and she bowed stiffly. "Lady Cordelia, Miss Myrtle, thank you for stopping for me."

"You didn't give me much choice," Cordelia replied. The Tully girl looked stricken for a moment, suddenly shy, but the older blonde's light smile dissipated her worries and she softened.

"May we talk?"

Cordelia turned to Myrtle and waved at her shortly, begging for some space. The woman hummed and did as she was told but not before looking them over.

"Walk with me," the shorter blonde asked. She crossed her arms over her chest against the wind, her gaze on the floor and the worst parts of her face hidden from the girl, and Misty fell into step with her. She waited a moment before speaking, unsure of her words.

"I'm truly sorry for Lord Hank's, for what's happened. I, I wish it hadn't gone as it did," the wild blonde began, stammering. "I keep replayin' the moment in my head but I can't figure out what went wrong, or why it did, or when. My wrist might simply have given out, the lances are heavy and-"

"I don't exactly care for excuses," Cordelia said. "But I appreciate you coming to me to speak with me and to extend your condolences," she recited.

"I know words can't change nothin', but I'm so sorry, ya have no idea," Misty continued, ignoring the woman's memorized answer. "I shouldn't have entered as I did, a girl with bastard training could never have worked in the middle of highborns."

"He died, not you," the older woman pointed out softly. "Your training had nothing to do with it." She glanced sideways at the girl. "Aren't you highborn?"

"Once I might have been. My family name does not account for much nowadays."

"You'll have to forgive me for my frankness and for my next question, as familiar as it may be," Cordelia said. "But you're not telling yourself it's your fault, are you?"

Misty bit her lower lip. "I am."

"Don't, then, if I may. Accidents happen, and it was the horse's armor that killed him, it was too heavy. He was angry in any case, if he hadn't ridden his beast so hard you might have missed him."

"But I didn't," Misty replied.

Cordelia turned to her, pausing, and the wild blonde threatened to smack into her, eyes wide and glancing quickly over the older woman's marred face. Cordelia's cheeks burned at the staring and she looked away, fearing the question that was bound to come and knowing the girl had more interest for her face. It was not new that people would ask, _why shouldn't she_? She began to walk again and Misty followed her after a moment, reaching for her elbow.

"May I say something?"

The Rose glanced down at the fingers against her skin and she looked up into pleading blue-green eyes. "If you wish to?"

Misty's gaze shifted to the hold she had on the woman and she tore away as if burned, flinching. And she began to fidget. "I've thought this over and I wish to repay ya for what I've done, for takin' a day of pure joy from ya and instead giving ya one of ruin. It won't change anythin', and ya won't get a husband or babies out of me, but I wish to be your personal guard until you've found a man again. He was goin' to protect ya, let me do the same until ya are married."

"That could be a few years."

"I have not much else to do," Misty murmured. "Riverrun's been fine without me all these years, it'll be fine still."

Black and blue eyes watched the girl, light distrust mixed with awe at the sudden proposal. "You realize your proposition is insane?"

"I apologize if I overstepped my bounds-"

"And I already have a personal guard, I'm a princess of Westeros."

Misty's shoulders fell lightly. "I realize that." She ducked her head. "I apologize."

"Look, I," Cordelia breathed in. "I appreciate the help you offer, but I'm safe here in Highgarden." The wild blonde looked her over, unable to hide the pain from her expression, and the older woman had to tear her gaze away. "Please stop staring."

"Starin'? Oh, seven gods I'm sorry I don't mean to stare-"

"Nobody ever does," Cordelia sighed bitterly.

"What do ya-" Misty paused, nose scrunched in thought, and she laughed lightly, nervously, out of place with herself. "Pray tell why ya think I'm starin?"

"Why should I have to spell it out for you? I know I'm deformed, there's no reason for you to point it out, I see it every morning in the mirror. Your staring is not only rude, but unnecessary," the woman snapped. She went to leave but Misty's fingers wrapped around her wrist and tugged her back. She began to protest but the girl's light smile made her pause and she waited, a look of disbelief on her face and flashing through her working black eye.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't starin' because of your deformity, though it's a harsh word," Misty said. "I'm starin' because, well, you're just very pretty."

"You say what's on your mind, don't you?"

"That's the way I was raised, Lady Cordelia, to be honest." The wild blonde let her go and her grin grew when Cordelia didn't pull away. "I'm, uh, I'm Misty. Misty Tully."

The woman glanced down at the hand extended out to her and she took it cautiously. "Cordelia Tyrell. If my mother was here I'd add 'of Highgarden, and of Casterly Rock, and princess of the Seven Kingoms of Westeros.' Luckily she's not here."

"Luckily?" Misty echoed, laughing.

"I'm being honest." Cordelia blushed when the girl shook her head, mirth in her eyes and a full blown smile on her lips. "Misty Tully, I won't be taking your proposal of consisting of my personal guard all by your lone self, but would you join me for dinner?"

"It'd be my honor, Cordelia Tyrell."

OOOoooOOO

Highgarden's hall was brightly colored with large bay windows that let in the late evening setting sun, the storm having finally dissipated and leaving a light sheen of water on the country's foliage in a pretty show of nature's wrath.

The candles had already been lighted and the minstrels were already playing in the corners of the large rectangular room, bouquets of golden roses between each window and on their lapels.

It was a cadre of living that Fiona had always been accustomed to and why she hadn't moved to Casterly Rock when prompted by her late husband or to King's Landing when she had been crowned sole heir of Westeros. It was lavish, she knew that, and it didn't bother her at all to admit it.

She sat at the head of her table, a great oaken thing that took the length of the room, two smaller ones on both its sides for lesser houses when the seats were needed. To her left was Chad Baratheon, picking at his food lightly and without much intent to eat while to her right was her paramour, the Axeman.

Sellsword by trade and well into his fourties, he had a smirk that had won her over after countless others and a figure that made her want to leave the room with him. He'd never liked his first name, and instead went by the weapon he used to assassinate his targets flawlessly, a skill she herself had taken quite a liking to.

To Chad's other side was seated Cordelia, Myrtle across from her, and next to her daughter, Misty Tully, which she thought to be of rather poor taste considering she'd had a hand in the guest of honor's brothers's death, but Cordelia had insisted and she'd given in, otherwise the young blonde would have pouted and followed her around until she'd gotten what she wanted, a trait she'd unfortunately passed down and that Cordelia used when she was worse for wear.

The rest of the table was filled with the permanent residents of the keep, each with their heads bowed between them as they talked silently, the music intertwining with their words.

Fiona was careful as to what she ate. She hadn't asked where they were keeping Hank's body and even though she was sure they hadn't stored him in the colder storage rooms deep in the belly of the keep, she didn't want to risk it.

"We'll have to send everyone back. The expenses won't be reimbursed."

She looked to the Axeman, a light frown on her face. "Yes, well, events like these cannot be foretold. No matter how many times Myrtle asked us to speak to a riddle witch."

Chad laughed. "A believer of magic?"

"Some have seen things, Lord Chad, things unable to be explained," the redheaded bastard replied. "I would not doubt the power of the mystics."

"The North froze your brains, Myrtle," Fiona said.

"Or maybe they melted when she came down," the Axeman added from behind his glass. Their end of the table erupted in laughter, Cordelia and Misty joining in politely.

Fiona watched the two young blondes as she went to lean back in her chair, nails picking at the skin around her thumb, and she smiled lightly. "Lady Misty, perhaps you would like to try the fish?"

"I'd much rather like the venison, thank you. The Neck only eats but fish and frogs." Misty blushed. "And I don't really like frog."

The Axeman raised an eyebrow. "There's not much to eat on them, anyhow, no wonder house Reed looks like they do."

"Which would be?" Chad asked.

"Twigs."

Cordelia reached for Misty's hand beneath the table and she gave her an apologetic smile that the wild blonde mirrored with her own reassuring one, but she didn't let the older woman pull away, intertwining her fingers with hers against their knees.

Though the Tully girl had changed out of her battle armor, she still wore her chainmail beneath a heavy woolen shirt of red and blue, silver trouts embroided in a pattern on the latter. Cordelia, since Hank's demise, had been wearing black dresses with low necks, like the fashion required, but her mother had requested the corset and sleeves be white. _You're grieving, but you're available. Don't look so drab._

Chad always wore black, golden stags dancing on his lapels, and the Axeman never changed out of his grays. At least Myrtle's hair added a little color to the table, Fiona herself in a red so deep it was almost purple.

"Will any of you be traveling back to Storm's End with our party for the funeral?" the Baratheon lord asked.

"I have matters to attend to in King's Landing and so we will diverge at the Kingswood, but we shall be road companions until then, if you'll have us," Fiona replied. "A queen's work is never done, no matter who must be buried, I do hope you'll forgive us."

"Westeros is more important than the death of one man." Chad acquiesced his head to her. "Are you all headed to the capital?"

"My time on this earth is counted, as is anybody's, I request that Cordelia follow me when I work on business of state so that she may learn."

"I don't want to be queen," her daughter said softly. "We've talked about this."

"Your father was not able to give me a son before he passed, you are the true heir. We have talked about this," Fiona said.

"I don't know, Lady Delia, bein' queen sounds mighty nice, you'd never have to worry 'bout nothin'."

The five turned to watch Misty, Cordelia grimacing as Chad tried to hide his grin behind his hand, passing it off for a polite cough.

"Delia?" the Lannister queen mused. "My dear Lady Misty, running a country, or rather, seven different countries, is something to worry about. Once you start running your own kingdom again, perhaps you will learn?"

"I apologize," Misty murmured. "I spoke too quickly."

"Are you headed back to Riverrun then?" the Axeman asked.

"I will be takin' the Roseroad with ya if you don't mind, up to the Kingsroad and Riverroad. The castle falls to me now that I've turned eighteen, it's time I stopped hidin'. Perhaps then I will learn of the burden of command and hopefully my conversation can be more appropriate the next time we meet, your highness."

"I'm sure the Riverlands will flourish beneath your gentle touch," Chad offered. Misty smiled gratefully and he ignored Cordelia's scathing look. "In any case, the more the merrier. We'll be leaving at dawn, so have your horses ready if you can, we'll be moving quickly." He grimaced. "Bodies tend to smell."

"You could have had him buried here," the silver haired man suggested.

"Father would have a heart attack in his own grave if I left my brother to rot in any earth other than ours."

The Axeman smirked. "And I'm sure his mistresses would be devastated to not see his sweet face again."

"I don't think he looks anything sweet now," Cordelia sniffed.

The two fell silent and Fiona stared testily, momentarily, at her lover. "Dawn it is."

OOOoooOOO

"Misty."

The wild blonde paused, heels off the floor and on the tip of her toes, a foot behind Cordelia, hands extended out. She grimaced as she fell back on the balls of her feet and let her arms fall to her sides. "Seven hells, Delia, how'd ya know I was there?"

The older blonde shook her head as she finished fastening her riding bag to her horse, and she turned around, smile teasing. "I've gotten used to being blind on my right side after all these years, I hear better now. And you make enough noise that a deaf Dothraki would hear you."

"You're hurtin' my pride."

"Your armor clicks. What were you trying to do, anyway?" the woman asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I don't know, surprise ya?" The Tully girl began to blush and she took a step back. "I guess I can't, you've got eyes on the back of your head."

"That's not really where I need them," Cordelia sighed. She took a moment to compose herself as she faced her horse, Misty watching her carefully, and finally she shrugged. "Sorry, I shouldn't talk like this."

"It's perfectly alright," the girl murmured. "How's the packin' goin? The sun's almost risen."

"It's going fine, thank you. I've packed the barest essentials onto here, if I get hungry or something, or if it rains, but the-" the older woman paused and took a deep breath. "I swear to the Seven, if you pinch me-"

"Dammit, how'd ya know?"

Cordelia glanced back at her. "You're acting like-"

"A child?" Misty finished for her. She rounded the woman to lean her shoulder on the beast, gazing into blue and black eyes. "Ya sound like Father Reed. I guess I should grow up, but I can wait until I'm actually home. Anyway there's not much fun in bein' serious all the time, is there?"

"Sometimes you need to be, Lady Misty. When was the last time you were there?"

"Where, Riverrun?" Cordelia nodded and the wild blonde shrugged. "Since the end of the wars, I was six, or seven."

"The Riverlands were taken prior to your birth, they were the first ones taken," the older blonde protested. "The wars were over when you were born."

"Maybe your step-father thought so, but the inner wars kept on goin'. The Freys weren't kind and when Riverrun and my parents burned at their hand, the rest of us ran as far north as possible. I remember fire and then rain," Misty said softly. She looked up at the skies thoughtfully. "And then snow when we reached Moat Cailin. But house Reed took us in and I've lived in the Neck ever since then." She shrugged. "I guess I'm here because I gotta let your mama know that I'm still alive and kickin' and that someone'll take the ruin over for her." She let out a nervous laugh. "I got her attention, didn't I?"

"In a way. I don't think she'll be much trouble to you, Misty," Cordelia soothed. "Just do what she says when she asks."

"I wasn't plannin' on bein' no dissident, Lady Delia. I've been in enough trouble before to last me a lifetime. I know where my place is. Let me help you up."

"I'm blind in one eye, not crippled," the Tyrell girl said, but she took Misty's helping hand anyway and lifted herself up onto her horse, side saddle, and the wild blonde smiled.

"Is that comfortable?" Misty called as she walked a few steps away and took the reins to her own horse, a strong white animal, and swung her leg over. She ambled back to Cordelia's side.

"It's just fine," Cordelia replied. "Misty, may I ask where your accent is from? I've been in the Riverlands before and yours doesn't exactly sound right."

"The man who got me outta Riverrun in the first place was from southern Essos," the wild blonde replied. She tugged on her reins and began to trot down the stable's walkway, Cordelia following behind. "I got a bastard accent from him. Does it bother ya?"

"No, it's sweet."

Misty looked away, her smile running faster than her blush.

They went to the head of the procession where Chad sat talking with Fiona, the woman sitting full straddle in a pair of breeches that she knew hugged her perfectly, and they were off within ten minutes, all of the Baratheon men following along with a Highgarden guard and with the Axeman closing, weapon strapped to his back for easy access.

They traveled for a good part of the day and only stopped when they could see Cider Hall on the horizon, far from the Roseroad's intended path. The battalion set up camp while Misty tended to the horses when prompted, speaking to calm them down as she brought them to a nearby stream to drink, and she didn't come back until night had fallen and the beasts had been rubbed down.

There were no doors and only flaps in the small city of tents, two dozens sitting in the camp, and she walked into hers freely. She let out a small yelp and a 'sorry' when she saw Cordelia siting on a bed and spun on herself to leave again, only pausing outside when she heard the woman calling her back. Surely she'd walked into the wrong tent.

Cordelia looked up, smiling at Misty glancing around the room furtively, and she shrugged in apology. "My mother thought it would be funny to put us together."

"I thought you'd have your own place," Misty murmured. "As did I."

"There weren't enough tents. Do you mind?" the older blonde asked, worry suddenly seeping into her eyes.

"No. Your ma's got a weird sense of humor though."

Cordelia nodded. "I've lived it." She brought her legs up onto her thin mattress and hugged her knees to her chest, seemingly waiting for the wild blonde to begin undressing for bed, but Misty only took off her boots and climbed in between her own sheets.

Misty turned to her side after a moment to face the Tyrell. "Aren't ya gonna blow out the candles?"

"Aren't you going to take off your armor? That musn't be very comfortable."

"I feel better with it on," Misty replied.

"Why do you wear it all the time?" The older blonde tore her gaze away after a moment, ashamed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry, we don't know each other."

"I don't mind the questions, I just like it better like this. And we do know each other a little, I think. If I may be so bold."

"At least we get along," Cordelia offered weakly.

"I like ya, if it means anythin'. It feels to me like ya don't get to see many people your own age."

The older blonde nodded softly and she reached to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You'd be right. This is nice."

"I'll have to invite ya over to Riverrun someday, when I've fixed up the place, I heard it was a right mess up there." Misty looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Ya can stay as long as ya like, if the place is good enough for ya. Ya can run away from your mother every summer."

"Summers can be long," Cordelia reminded her gently.

"So?" The wild blonde turned her gaze back on the woman. "Why don't ya wanna be queen, Delia?"

It was Cordelia's turn to tear her gaze away as she bit the inside of her cheek to blood. "I just want to live a quiet life. I was fine before my mother married that man, I was left alone."

"Ya want a man and a castle and a few dogs to run around with your babies, huh? Some place faraway where ya can just live?"

"Yes. No." Cordelia rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "I don't know."

Misty sat up. "Don't know what?"

"I want to just live," the older woman echoed. "But I don't know about the rest of your statement."

"The babies?"

"The man," Cordelia whispered. She reached for the candles and shook her head. "Good night, Misty."

OOOoooOOO

They rode through the next morning and only stopped for lunch, Chad demanding to have a table and chairs set out even though Fiona had wanted to reach the meeting of the Mander and the Blueburn first, Bitterbridge their next real stop along the former river.

She almost wanted to ask him if he wanted Hank propped up next to them too but refrained, her spark burning on her tongue.

Though the Axeman and her kept a lively conversation, Chad kept mostly to himself, eyes on his men puttering back behind them, and Misty and Cordelia held their heads bowed together, communicating silently for whatever they needed from across the table.

The Baratheon lord asked for an extra hour after they'd finished fasting, deciding to take a walk through the woods nearby with a guard of his choosing, and the Axeman couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at the Lannister queen. She turned away from him, finding Misty whispering in Cordelia's ear, her hand on her upper arm and rubbing circles into her skin. Whatever she was saying seemed to amuse her daughter, the woman's lips upturned into a bright smile as she leaned in to listen better. She noted that Cordelia took to the same grin as her mother did when a person delighted them.

When they took off again, Chad's eyes glossed over and the Axeman rounding up the battalions, the blue and black eyed girl had a flower in her hair that she kept palming back into place carefully, though Misty was riding farther away with her gaze on the horizon and hands tight around her reins.

She rode close to the stag, his gait easy and his conversation vapid, and she thought she would herself fall asleep from boredom until she turned and found her lover coming close, eyes bright. He reached over to hand her a skin of wine and though she had drunk plenty during their stop she took it gratefully, the sun hot despite the temperatures cooling as they traveled north into winter.

"I want us at Bitterbridge," she told him. "Before the end of the day."

"We'll have to get the men moving then," he replied. "And your daughter. Her and the Tully girl keep getting lost in the back somewhere."

She looked him over as she handed back the pouch. "They do seem to have taken to each other."

"Wouldn't you rather talk to someone your age than strange men or your mother?"

"Misty Tully may not be a man, but she is a stranger," Fiona muttered. "I tolerate her, no more."

"She gets on your nerves?"

The Lannister queen's shoulders bristled. "She's unbelievably common."

"What a tragedy."

"So will you be, unless you watch your tongue." The Axeman gave her a little smile that bordered a smirk, it was almost insolent, but he leaned over and pressed a kiss ot her cheek and she would forgive him. "No, I can't say I enjoy my daughter spending her time with a swamp rat."

"We'll reach the capital and she'll be on her way, I don't think you'll see her again soon. Cordelia is not one to leave the Reach often, in any case," he mused. "Unless she's one to sneak out at night."

"She did, once," Fiona said. "Not twice. But that was before the greyscale, now it's what stops her."

He grimaced as he glanced back over his shoulder, searching her in the men. "She's ashamed?"

"Wouldn't you be if you were so grotesque?" She let her voice drop to a harsh whisper. "I won't find someone else for her now."

"Maybe I should marry her." The blonde gazed at him, eyes narrowed, and he couldn't pick between a shrug and a laugh. "I'd send her back home to my family, she'd be out of your hair."

"And my heir?"

"A woman is a woman, greyscale or not. We can have our own babies."

Fiona sneered. "You're disgusting. And you haven't fixed my problem." She looked ahead. "I'll have to wait until younger brothers reach age, hopefully her titles will make her salvageable then. If only the Wall took girls."

OOOoooOOO

"I ache everywhere. I feel like my spine is about to burst through my spleen." Cordelia glanced down at herself, taking a moment to palm her waist. "Or perhaps my intestines. I can't quite tell."

"That'd be from bein' sidesaddle all day," Misty replied. The Tyrell girl looked up, surprised, and she frowned lightly at the wild blonde from across the tent, her knees tucked beneath herself on the mattress while Misty sprawled on hers, arm over her eyes. "I could teach ya, if ya want."

"A lady rides sidesaddle."

The blue-green eyed girl lifted her head momentarily to glance over Cordelia, disbelief in her gaze, and the older woman looked away with shame in hers.

"I meant to say, I wasn't raised that way," Cordelia tried. "Sorry."

"No harm done, though ya have your mother's tongue," Misty said. She shifted to sit up, placing her back against one of the tent's holding posts by her pillow, and she sighed. "Don't look so miserable, come here, I'll fix ya right up."

Cordelia hesitated for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek, but she finally stood and made her way over to sit on the opposite bed, back straight. Misty rolled her eyes lightly and tugged her closer, moving to face her side, and she stretched out her leg so that her thigh supported the woman's back, Cordelia reporting some of her weight gratefully.

They had ridden for far too long in the last two days, now safely inside the Kingswood and protected by heavy leaves from the torrential downpour they had spied hours prior, the rain puddling outside and muddying boots and horse.

Misty pressed her palm into Cordelia's side until the girl cried out, glancing sharply at the wild blonde, and she left her cool fingers there for a moment, apologizing. She massaged carefully, looking up at eyes closed in bliss then pain as she searched for the cause of the woman's ache. Cordelia's hand came to rest on hers, keeping her where she needed the relief, and she let her head loll forward, a grunt escaping.

"Delia?"

The older blonde hummed in response, her nose twitching along.

"What's the matter your mama wants to take care of in King's Landing?"

"Oh, Misty, I don't know," the woman admitted. "She doesn't tell me much of anything. She makes me go with her everywhere but she doesn't let me sit in on meetings, whatever she says about teaching me the ways of being queen." Cordelia shrugged and flexed over, rib cage tight beneath Misty's fingers. "That feels much better, thank you. How'd you know?"

"Your muscles are just sore. There's these animals that paralyze ya if ya wade into the swamps back at the Neck, they're just about waist high when they're swimmin' round ya. They get ya here-" She dug her nails into the woman's skin, raising goosebumps. "And their venom knots your muscles right up. Ya gotta rub it out into the bloodstream." Misty frowned. "Are ya alright? You're breathin' hard, I didn't hurt ya did I?"

"No, no I-" The older woman looked away. "I don't know. Maybe I know I'll be hurt."

"What? Did I do somethin? Say somethin'? I don't think I meant anythin' by it if I did, not to hurt ya anyway-"

Cordelia leaned over and pressed her fingers to Misty's mouth, hushing the bewildered blonde. She wasn't exactly sure of what to do with her hands, but at the same time, she wasn't sure what to do with the rest of herself either. Her hooded gaze kept flitting between Misty's full lips and her beautiful sea green eyes and her body was only allowing her to lick her dry lips momentarily, everything else stuck in reverse in her mind. Her thumb grazed the palm of the girl's hand, and her gaze lowered to watch it happen, unconscious as she was to the movement. It felt so natural.

Misty's eyes followed hers and she tightened her grip on the woman's fingers, shifting so that their hands intertwined. She pulled the older blonde a little closer, their chests now inches from touching. Cordelia's breathing deepened as Misty's doubled erratically.

"I've, this is embarrassing, I must admit." Cordelia flushed lightly, her good eye watching Misty carefully, searchingly.

"What is?"

"I've," The woman paused again. "I've never kissed anyone. Much less fallen in love."

"Me neither."

The older blonde frowned. "You've never-?"

"No. Same as ya. I'm embarrassed too."

They shared a light laugh that died out as Cordelia placed her fingertips on Misty's jaw, pulling her closer, yet her touch was still so hesitant. Misty smiled lightly and they gazed at each other as their lips hovered, but as the wild blonde moved in slowly, Cordelia suddenly pulled away.

She turned, giving the girl a view of her jaw, her good eye, and she wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

Misty's hands fell away to rest in her lap from where they'd been by Cordelia's shoulder. "What is it? Are ya alright?" She moved to face the woman properly, ducking her head, but the older blonde turned away a little farther.

"I'm terrifying to look at. Why do you?"

Misty sighed, more disappointed, surprised, than annoyed. "Seven hells, Delia. I'd have thought by now that I'd have proven ya that I didn't care about no scars."

"Misty."

"Delia, look at me. _Please_."

The older blonde gave her a defeated sigh as she raised her hand again to wipe at the tears by her blind eye, and she turned to the wild blonde, knuckles by her temple, throwing shadows across the worst part of her face. She winced as Misty pulled her hand away and kissed each fingertip before cradling her head in between her palms.

"Delia." Misty smiled lightly, sadly.

The older blonde pushed into her touch. "What."

"Fallen in love?"

The Tyrell girl went to speak but her gasp that followed was swallowed by Misty as she reached in and kissed her lightly, longingly, lips barely touching, their breath hovering.

Cordelia pulled away first and rested her forehead against Misty's as her fingers tangled in wild curls, and the Tully girl smiled again as she kissed her lightly on the cheek. She circled the woman's shoulders with her strong arms and pulled her in, hugging her tight to her chest, chainmail digging into her skin pleasurably.

Misty pressed her a kiss behind the woman's ear. "Sorry 'bout bein' forward I just-" She paused, running her hands over Cordelia's frame. "Really like ya. It won't happen again if ya don't want it to."

Cordelia nodded against her, her fingers traveling down the individual links to the girl's chainmail. She looked up, her nose knocking into Misty's and she watched the wild blonde laugh and rub at it for a moment before she took her hand and pushed it aside, pulling Misty down to catch her mouth with her own, running her tongue over her lower lip. The wild blonde's hand snuck beneath the bottom of Cordelia's corset and she pulled her closer, spurring her to kiss her harder as the older woman's fingers ran down her sides, hitching on metal.

She dove beneath, pulling at skin, but Misty grabbed at her hands and held her away, pressing another kiss to her mouth before pulling away and shuddering, blue-green eyes closing.

"Too forward?" Cordelia murmured. She moved to lay beside Misty, turning her head into the pillow. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's not that, I-" Misty looked away and huffed, suddenly annoyed. "It's not ya."

"Misty?"

"Yeah."

"That's burn tissue, isn't it? Beneath all your armor? Burn scars?"

The wild blonde turned to look over Cordelia, reaching to her hair to push back a strand. "Delia, I-"

"Don't lie to me, please, you really can't now," the woman whispered. She kissed Misty's knuckles, gaze heavy.

"Have you ever met Lawrence Frey?"

Cordelia frowned lightly. "No, I haven't."

"No, ya wouldn't have, because he doesn't let anyone see him anymore, he's as burned as I am, but he can't hide it as I can. It's a testament to what the Twins did to me, to my family." Misty's eyes closed. "I, I walked in the same flames he did, he was runnin' after me and he tripped and caught me and I fell with him. I was saved and he was left there and he left his face on the ground. I almost died and I heard he almost did too, but I grew into my scars, he was a man grown. I grew into them and they ain't pretty at all. I'm not beautiful like ya."

Cordelia pulled her closer, their bodies flush, and she kissed her quickly, her teeth clashing against the girl's. She slowed their embrace until she broke away to rest her forehead on the wild blonde's, breathing lightly. "You could have a missing limb and I wouldn't care. You could have an extra one. Have you seen me?" She laughed lightly. "We make a pair."

"I'm still pretty messed up, beneath the armor and maybe a little in my head."

"And I'm pretty messed up in my head, and maybe in my heart," Cordelia murmured back. "I guess we'll both have to be careful." She watched Misty shrug, almost amused past her light anxiousness, and their kissing grew heavy again, with the older woman's hips connecting with hers. Misty winced lightly when Cordelia's fingers found their way beneath her mail again but she urged her on anyways.

She sat up to hover above the older blonde, reaching for the clasps on her armor as Cordelia's eyes grew wide, her hands holding her still, and she threw the metal plates and the links to the side of the bed, cloaked in darkness, her arms still covered. Cordelia trailed her hands down crevices and lightning shaped scars spanning from collarbone to beneath her trousers, mouth following in light kisses across damaged ribs. Misty draped herself down over Cordelia and she buried her face in the crook of the woman's neck, breathing lightly.

"There's a lot, are ya okay?"

The older woman wrapped her arms around her neck, kissing her on the cheek and Misty's smile grew. She let her weight fall over Cordelia and they shifted to make themselves comfortable, and both closed their eyes, blue-green, blue, and black.

OOOoooOOO

It was hours later when Misty stumbled out of bed, bleary eyed and cotton mouthed, and she took a second to listen to Cordelia moan as she shifted in the bed they were sharing, pulling a pillow closer.

She had to relieve herself, no matter how badly the woman's warm body called her back.

It still rained outside and she struggled to put on her boots, lower body screaming, and she cursed having drank too much, and she threw in another wild word for the gods that made the sky cry so hard.

She held her fingers to her lower lip afterward, staring up at the clouds and letting the rain wash down her face as she felt around where the older blonde had kissed her, a strong blush running down her chest with the water around her.

She began to make her way back to their tent, bent on enveloping Cordelia back in her arms and not letting her go until she had to. She paused, steps light, outside of Fiona's tent, hearing voices murmuring and whispering and laughing. It was late and it confused her that someone else than the Axeman would be speaking with the Lannister queen at such an ungodly hour.

The wild blonde crouched by the opening of the tent, unable to stop herself from prying into matters that were not her own but most likely the realms', and she held her breath as best as possible, the wind moving the flaps just enough that she could spy inside.

Chad Baratheon was sprawled in a chair, legs extended out in front of him and with Fiona across from the table.

" _The Starks are moving down the Green Fork too quickly_ ," Chad read out, a letter in his gloved hands. " _We request help_." He reached for another piece of parchment at the queen's elbow. " _Greyjoy and Targaryen scouts sighted at the mouth of Blackwater Bay, movement on Dragonstone, fifteen thousand men estimated._ " He threw them down. "At least they're short and to the point. What's this with the Starks?"

"Oliver Bolton of the Dreadfort claims the North for himself and wants help in taking it. He pledges complete allegiance and free movement of my troops within his realm, something Lana Stark has never agreed to past bending the knee, if I help him in this."

"What's his claim?"

Fiona shrugged. "He says he married the woman."

Chad laughed. "That'd be news. The feral wolf is married and the Targaryens and Greyjoys are working together."

"Their kids married," the blonde growled. "The kraken is weak on earth and the dragon is weak on water, they probably think they can surprise me if they combined, but they seem to forget I have eyes everywhere."

"If war was to break out, it'd be a lot of people in the capital at once," he mused. "Whatever will you do?"

"War won't break out, revolt is prohibited. I am queen of Westeros."

"But it will." The man played with the end of his knife nonchalantly, point against his thumb.

Fiona threw the messages into the fire at the center of the tent and watched the paper burn, hazel eyes reflecting the glow. "I know."

"If you have the dragon and the kraken at your doors, and the wolf...Well, it's a cocktail even you can't drink alone."

"Why, Chad Baratheon, do you want to help me chug it down?"

"I'd be willing," he replied. "If I had something in it for me in the end. I've always dreamed of a winter home," he added wistfully. He shifted in his seat. "I'd have fifteen thousand men to give myself." He narrowed his eyes. "You do realize how large this would be if it were to happen? Which it will?"

"Do amuse me."

"You'd be fighting the Stark woman, the Targaryens, the Greyjoys, not counting the Dornishmen who might take this as an opportunity. You'd have me on your side but who else?"

"The Lannister men, the men of King's Landing, the Tyrell men, the Vale if the rumors that Hayden Arryn hates her family is true, I'm not poor in this."

"The Tully men?"

"Misty likes Cordelia too much to say no to me if I ask," Fiona replied. "Why?"

"I don't trust her. Accidents are accidents until they're not, Lady Fiona, and my brother is dead. If she was to receive a spear in the throat I wouldn't cry."

"If during the fight an arrow should go astray...?"

"If there is a fight," he shrugged. "As you said."

"I'm afraid there will be, Lord Chad. Bolton won't back down, as idiotic as he is for trying without enough men for his own quarrels, but I can't risk a civil war in the north, I must pick a side and Lana Stark would spit on my outstretched hand. He's more manageable." Fiona looked to the fire. "And Constance Targaryen is a greedy bitch, as is Ben Greyjoy, they won't lay down until I backhand them to the floor."

"War councils will have to be done in King's Landing. What will your daughter say if she sits in on those?"

"She'd be against it, of course, she's a pacifist."

"So?"

"So she won't sit in on them, though everything would be easier if she was dead. I do mean everything."

Chad looked up, eyebrows raised. "That can be taken care of. A few gold coins here, a few there. A well placed knife in the dark."

"You sound like you've had people murdered before."

"I did have an older brother, once," the lord pointed out.

"Have it done, then, but make it clean." She paused and glanced back at him. "Why not have Misty Tully taken care of too, while you're at it?"

He grinned wolfishly.

Misty fell back on the ground as she struggled to stand, boots slipping in the mud. She ran for the tent as silently as she could, the rain masking her panting, and she reached for Cordelia as soon as she entered, water trailing onto the woman.

"Delia, darlin', we gotta go."

OOOoooOOO

"Well?" Fiona barked, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

The guard before her fell to a knee. "Your highness, Misty Tully is gone, one horse is missing and so are her things," the man panted.

"Gone?"

"In the night, my lady, and-" The man looked away, glancing back at the men from his regiment, all standing awkwardly stiff.

"Spit it out," the Axeman growled.

"And we can't find the princess," the guard finally said.

"Seven hells," Chard murmured.

Fiona turned to the lord, eyes blazing as she shouldered past him. "Your stray arrow."


	5. Breaking Down

**Headcanoned with an beta-ed by graceonce**

 **Rated M for language and puppetry of the dead?**

 ** _Two Months Before the Battle of Visenya's Hill_**

"He's _what_?"

The blonde standing before the girl sighed lightly as she looked up to the ceiling, to the walls, letting her gaze fall to anywhere but the young brunette. She'd had no want to deliver the news herself but she'd been chosen out of the entire house and its servants, the cowards too afraid to join her in the hall. She cursed the fact that the girl liked her enough to not take it out on her if it came to blows.

She hadn't so far, anyway.

But Billie Dean was a seer, not a messenger, and having to tell her Lady Hayden that the Targaryen boy had been married without her knowledge didn't strike her as a good or safe idea.

She watched the Arryn heir pace the raised platform where her weirwood carved throne sat, her back arched in anger and her composure stiff as Billie imagined smoke lifting from her nostrils like she'd seen dragons do.

"I don't see why this would bother you," Billie tried. "With your niece married to Dragonstone, she has no claim to the Vale, she gave it up by marrying this Tate, just as your sister had when she married Ben Greyjoy. You are the only heir now, the east is yours."

Hayden turned to spit venom at Billie. "I'd like to remind you that Tate Targaryen had been promised to _me_ , as had Ben Greyjoy." She picked at the scarf around her neck, angrily tugging it off as she heated in anger. "They _dare_ break their treaty! They _dare_ not tell me!"

"Why would you want to give up your title to a man, I wonder," the blonde mused.

The brunette glanced at the seer and sneered. "You may think less of the men of this world, Billie Dean, but some of us don't want an army consisting of them at their doors because they're a woman whom people assume can't hold her fortress!"

"The Eyrie is impregnable."

"To date," Hayden spat back.

"All who have tried have failed at the Bloody Gate, my lady, this will not change simply because a woman has been made true and unquestionable leader."

"I'm sure our enemies could find a way. Would you like to see them try?"

Billie grimaced lightly at the girl's rising pitch. "The Vale is yours, the queen will attest to that."

"Fiona Lannister?" Hayden said, turning to watch her from above. "What interest has she in me?"

"She doesn't like your brother-in-law," Billie replied easily. "Or your new nephew."

"And?"

The blonde sighed, irritated. "And if she doesn't like them, this is your opportunity as new and irreproachable queen of the Vale to _make friends_ with the queen of Westeros."

"How would that help me, to make friends with the lion."

"Even dragons and krakens bow to the king of the jungle." Billie smiled. "But a falcon soars above."

"You and your charades," Hayden spat.

"Lord Lana Stark is mobilizing in the north," the blonde announced loudly, annoyed. "And the Targaryens have called Greyjoy ships to the bay. Someone will have to guard the Lannisters and their allies. We can be that ally. We can keep the Vale for ourselves and chip away at the other kingdoms after this victory."

"Lana Stark?" the brunette echoed. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter, she has no quarrel with the Lannisters, she's chasing a man down with the winter, but she won't catch him until King's Landing."

"Billie," Hayden laughed lightly as she slowed her pacing, light eyes on the woman below her. "Does the queen know of this?"

"Smoke only speaks to those who listen," the blonde said. "She will soon enough."

"An anonymous tip from a lost raven?"

"Of sorts. She will know when she needs to."

"And if she knows of this too late?"

Billie shrugged lightly, her black eyes bright, and Hayden shook her head.

"You puzzle me, Billie Dean. Not in the best of ways. Will you let me know of your half-baked plans before they happen this time?"

"You'll know when they're ready," the blonde replied softly.

"How long?" the brunette asked suddenly.

"How long what?"

"How long have they been married?" Hayden snapped. She sat down on her throne, throwing her legs over the side and leaning back over the arm, head tilted back.

"Two weeks, three at the most."

"Too long, Billie. Did you not see this in your fires?"

"I hadn't thought of asking."

Hayden raised her head to stare her down. "What do I care if I chip away at the fallen kingdoms when I do? I have no heir to keep them when I die."

The seer shrugged lightly. "Then make one."

"And be the whore I've been proclaimed to be?"

"A word is a word." Billie shook her head. "Sometimes they hold truth? Moon tea has been drunk this month."

"I don't want a bastard," Hayden Arryn growled.

"A bastard can easily be forgiven," the blonde said. "If one is friends with the queen."

OOOoooOOO

"There's still that matter of the thief in the sky cells-?"

Hayden waved her hand vaguely. "If he hasn't repented, the moon door is still his fate."

"He screams a lot."

She glanced at the maester, eyebrows raised. "Has he repented?"

"It's hard to tell," the man admitted softly. "His words are rather strung together, we can't make out what he's saying."

"Then the moon door stands," the brunette enunciated sweetly.

"He could be sent to the Wall, my lady," the maester suggested. "They need watchers, they always do, and perhaps-"

"I don't need to be told what to do with my criminals, maester. The Wall has no jurisdiction on me, and me on them. The moon door."

"Tomorrow, then."

"Good," she quipped. "What else? Redfort?"

A tall blond stepped up, hair slicked back and his hands at the dimples at the bottom of his spine, and he bowed lightly. "Two dozen boys have come and vowed into our battalions, my lady," he announced.

"Patrick, how do you do it?" Hayden sighed, smiling.

"It can't be your charming personality," Billie Dean said at her side.

"Hush, Billie. Patrick?"

"Incentives to keep their families fed through the coming winter," the knight continued, eyes on the blonde woman. "The idea was only diffused during the night, we should have much more joining in the coming days."

"This sounds like a good note to end on." Hayden stood, tugging the shadowcat pelt closed around her shoulders. "You're all dismissed. Ser Patrick, stay."

The Eyrie's hall slowly emptied, hushed whispers through the blue and gray colored dome that echoed on the walls, and the lady of the Vale waited with Billie at her back and Redfort down on the floor as each man and woman bowed to her and left. Hayden fell back into her throne, pulling her crown off and placing it in Billie's outstretched hands, the silver band warm in between the seer's fingers.

"I'm going to have you two killed," she snapped.

"With all due respect," Patrick shifted his weight, "She started it."

Billie bristled softly. "Your air of superiority-"

"Is well-placed," Hayden finished for her. "He is captain of the guard and protector of the queen of Mountain and Vale, he has the right to speak as much as you." She turned to give Billie a measured look. "Especially when I've asked him to speak. Have the rest of the guard scheduled for today, I want the Bloody Gate and the Gates of the Moon repaired for winter, you know that."

"It'll be done, we have plenty of time," Billie said softly. "Enough moons."

"The quarries have only now just sent the last ship," Patrick added. "They'll be here for the end of the afternoon, construction on the cracked stones will begin at dawn."

"Better." Hayden stood, pulling her dress down, and she walked to the door to the back of the platform that led to her rooms, but she turned as an after-thought. "Oh, and remind me to have last winter's architect thrown out the moon door?"

When the door closed, Redfort laughed. "The man's on his death bed anyway. How long ago was the last winter?"

"She wants him to fly, he'll fly, Ser Patrick. Are you questioning her decision?"

"Billie Dean, I only do what she wishes, I do so with happiness in my heart." Patrick extended his hands. "I was brought from castle Redfort to help-"

"And you've done enough," Billie replied. She laughed lightly. "I don't like you."

He shrugged. "I don't like you either, this works out just fine. Witches are," He cocked his head to the side, "Unnatural."

"I'm not a witch. I've been gifted."

"Says the witch."

"If you only dislike me for my abilities, then I stand on higher ground than you."

"Something a witch would say?"

She walked down a few steps, coming dangerously close to his level. "Something a man would say?" she echoed.

"You worship the moon-" he started.

"And the winds and the mountains. Do you not?" she asked. "Do you not, protector of the Mountain and Vale?" He gritted his teeth, jaw set, and Billie shrugged. "Different words for the same one."

"Synonyms."

"Illusions," she countered.

"You're infuriating," Patrick snapped. "Your riddles-"

"Open a book, Ser Patrick," she said softly. "Would you excuse me?" She shouldered past him and left the hall, leaving him fuming behind her as she played with the crown between her fingers. A pillow awaited it in her Lady Hayden's rooms but she'd wait, the girl'd want to talk and she had no good news to give the brunette. Or any news.

She placed the silver bandlet around her own ears, the metal cold against her bleached hair and heavy against her skull as she walked the cold and lonely hallways of the Eyrie, wind flitting through the stone archways. In a few months it'd bring snow down from the north and the mountain peaks, but the air was already frigid and dry.

She blinked, nose smarting, and turned away, bringing her sleeve up to wipe at her face as she grabbed for the crown.

OOOoooOOO

Billie cursed war councils. She had no want for them, no need for them, and she wondered endlessly why her Lady Arryn insisted on having her in them, why she had always wanted her there. She didn't need to hear the details to find the future within the shadows, and she had no pull on the armies.

She was a seer, not a messenger and not a general and the men would not listen to a woman that was not born to a title (as the brunette had often said, though the blonde would never admit to her she was right).

She figured she was lucky, war councils were rare in the Eyrie and in the Fingers, protected by cliffs and rain and ice and the latter, sheep. And she figured it was her fault, this sudden meeting, she'd been the one to suggest the Lannister queen as an ally in the coming _skirmish_ (the specters whispered war, she wouldn't listen). She was protecting the Vale's interest, this alliance was necessary, a necessary evil she would flirt with again and again to protect the girl from herself.

If Hayden would have no husband, she would have a territory greater than any had had before her. The lion would help her in her quest, and so would the seer.

She turned back to face the flames she'd started, her basement rooms illuminated now with the fires in the corner, and though she had had wanted to breathe in their smoke and their truth, she had been called to Hayden's side. And so she reached out and with a flick of her hand, extinguished them, and took in the smell of burnt wood. She fastened her cloak around her shoulders and walked to the hall, waving the guard that tried to follow her away, shadows playing at his side and then joining hers.

Hayden waited by the door to the war room, hip cocked out and eyebrows raised in light disbelief at the lateness of the woman's arrival. Billie bowed lightly and she snorted, annoyed, motioning her in. She slammed the door closed behind them, and the blonde couldn't help but let her gaze linger on the unopened letters on the oak table.

"Morning news," Hayden said. "Do you want to help?"

Billie clicked her tongue. "I was not summoned for this."

"Were you working?"

"I was trying to."

Hayden shrugged. "This is more important. We'll wait for Ser Patrick to start." She looked up. "He's-"

"Needed, I know," the blonde said.

"If it is decided that we will join the Lannisters in this war, you'll help write the letter."

"We'd have to wait for her to declare it before we joined."

"I'm not an idiot," Hayden snapped. She watched Billie pick at the letter on top of the pile, long nails reaching beneath the lip of it to open it. She carefully pried the parchment loose, black eyes reading from line to line.

Billie hummed. "The Dornish prince has a princess."

"What?"

"This week," the blonde added. "She arrived at Sunspear a month before that."

"Why wasn't I told?" Hayden demanded. "Is everyone getting married behind my back? Is the lady of the Vale not invited anymore? Fucking Lana Stark is married!"

"Lana Stark didn't exactly _want_ to be married," the seer pointed out. "And you don't need a king to rule with you."

"I'm not interested, Billie."

The blonde's eyebrow raised delicately. "I'm flattered you'd think of me, but I'm married to my ghosts, my lady." Hayden gave her a grunt. "I only meant that it should not matter, these letters. We've talked of this before."

"Yes, we have, countless times. I cannot hold the Eyrie by myself!"

The older blonde turned away.

"Who's left?" Hayden asked.

"Left?"

"To be married."

"Brothers and grandfathers," Billie replied. " _Younger_ brothers."

They both turned when the door opened, and the knight behind it sneered lightly as he closed it after him. "Lana Stark is married?" Patrick echoed.

"So the spirits say," Billie replied. "Do you listen at doors often?"

"Since when?"

The woman hummed. "It depends. How old is the child?"

Hayden looked up from where she'd dropped her gaze on the floor, exasperated. "There's a _child_?"

Billie glanced back at her. "She doesn't acknowledge him, or his birthright. He's a Snow."

Patrick scowled. "How do you even know this?"

"And why wouldn't you tell me?" Hayden demanded.

"Spirits."

The heir to the Vale let out a curse word, a few chosen ones, and Patrick couldn't help but shake his head.

"Are you on our side, Lady Billie?"

Black eyes raised. "Why help the queen?"

Hayden's gaze closed and she turned on herself, anger in her closed fists as the knight at her side let out a groan.

"Explain, before I send you back to your dungeons," Hayden said.

"It came to me, just then, between last night and seconds ago when I read of the Dornish," Billie began, voice a whisper. "Why help the queen, when you can be queen?"

"You want to overthrow Fiona Lannister?" Patrick laughed. "Ridiculous!"

"Let her speak."

"It's an altercation we can take advantage of. If the Targaryens and the Greyjoys move into the capital, then she will have nothing to do but protect her city. By then the direwolf will have made her way down to the gates, she will not have caught her prisoner-to-be before then, he moves too fast, her army is heavy." Billie pointed to the letter. "The new princess is of Castamere, she will have the crown prince of Dorne push against the borders of his kingdom, just to spite the lions, and he will do what she asks. The queen will be stretched, Lady Hayden, between them all. We can strike, and take it all."

"She's making this up!" Patrick snapped. He turned to Hayden. "You can't possibly believe this. You'd think she saw all this in her herbs and tea leaves?" He smacked the palm of his hand on the table, map beneath his fingers. "The Baratheons will join the queen in this, they will be too strong together to take on then, I can guarantee it. We should join the stags in their decision to help our sovereign!"

"Only because your lover sits at the head, antlers against his ears," Billie replied. "Would you not see your Arryn on the iron throne?"

"You know I would," he growled back. He glanced back towards the brunette. "We don't have enough men for this, my lady. The plan is nothing but a failure, if you'd want to call it a plan."

"Of course we'd need more men if we want to take King's Landing, it's a detail."

"A detail that can't be overlooked, men don't grow out of the tapestries!" Patrick yelled. "Where would you find them?"

"Here. We have the men of the mountain."

"Ha!"

Hayden bit at the inside of her cheek. "They're wild, uncontrollable. They're not beneath my jurisdiction for a reason, Billie Dean."

"I can talk to them, have them join our cause easily," the blonde replied.

"No, Lady Hayden." Patrick closed his eyes. "We need more men than just the clans, we have to wait, at least wait until after this war, the Lannisters will be deplenished by then-"

"Better to take them while they're already fighting than when they've had a moment to breathe, Ser Patrick. I am no strategist, but if we wait, winter will catch up and no one leaves the Vale then, and no one enters. The Lannisters will have our count by then. If we take them during the chaos, they'll be helpless to us."

"We could help them now," the knight said, facing the brunette. "Learn their secrets, and after winter-"

"When will this winter end, Ser Patrick?" Hayden asked. "We don't know how long it'll last, we never do. What if it lasts twenty years? What then?" She turned to Billie, hazel eyes narrowed. "Have a meeting with the clans, see what you can do. I wouldn't mind an iron throne," she hummed. "And I wouldn't mind the chance of showing my ex-betrotheds to not play with the heart of an Arryn."

OOOoooOOO

"I wish to speak with you!"

"I'm busy."

The candle lights were snuffed out in front of her, blown out by an angry huff of air and the wicks wetted by two fingers previously popped into a mouth and against a tongue. She let her gaze drift to her side, looking up into piercing blue eyes.

"I hope you sleep well, Ser Patrick. They don't like being interrupted," Billie Dean said softly. "And in return they might interrupt your dreams tonight."

"I don't give two shits about your delusions, or whatever you want to call 'them'," he hissed back. "The only thing that will interrupt my sleep is your words to our lady today!" He shoved a finger in her face, spitting his words out. "And don't you _dare_ talk of truth and light."

"Then why have a conversation?"

"If we fight the queen-"

"Then we will have a new queen."

Patrick stared. "You're sending men to their death because you've inhaled too much smoke and Hayden, for some reason, believes your drunken ravings, you know nothing of war. The men of the mountains have no discipline, no weapons, no courage! You know nothing of war and you're going to kill everyone!"

"Have faith, Ser Patrick, in your Seven, if not me."

"I don't believe you see the future."

"It doesn't matter if you do, our lady does." The blonde's eyebrows raised. "Do you want to know what I see?"

Redfort sneered.

"I see death, and I see prisoners, and I see our glorious heir of the Vale with her silver crown standing above them all, fire at her back and glory before her."

"You're insane."

"Blood will flow out of her enemies' eyes-"

"Will she bring you along? Will I have the joy of your company during this campaign? She would not go without her seer for guidance."

Billie shook her head. "I wouldn't go, Ser Patrick, I have no place on a battlefield. Lady Hayden will rely on you, and you alone."

"You would send men to their death and not even give them the satisfaction of watching."

"I would give them the satisfaction of letting them watch you bring our queen to her rightful throne. Too long have the Arryns of the Vale been forgotten, bring them to light."

He watched her carefully, eyes narrowed. "You'd give it to me? The title?"

"I have no want for it. Walk away with what I give you, Ser Patrick."

He took a step back, his gaze on hers as he played with the hilt of his sword. He raked his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, and nodded curtly. "Fine. But I will have your head if you've lied."

"If I've lied, my head disengaged from my body is the least of my worries," she said, black eyes on her wet candles.

OOOoooOOO

The minotaur stood eight feet tall, it's breath clouding past his chest in the cold temperatures and its red ruby eyes staring her down, the pupil invisible. It shifted its weight, muscles rippling in its arms as it flexed its hold on its double edged ax, something too big for a normal human to hold, and it blew air out of its nose again, close to her face. Billie gave it a strained smile, the metal on the gargantuan's bull shaped helmet cold even from inches away, and she took a small step back, giving it a polite smile.

It grunted back.

Behind her, Ser Patrick stiffened, his fingers tight around the pommel of his sword, and he pulled her sideways by her elbow to stand before the man. "We wish to see your leader." He glanced back over his shoulder, blue eyes trailing over the circle of mountain men around them. "We mean peace."

There was another grunt and the blondes shared a glance, the guard that had followed them down from the Bloody Gates on shifting awkwardly around them, unsure of what to do with the immediate threat.

"Only. You."

Patrick looked back to the bull headed man. "Me?"

A finger was extended out. "No. You."

Billie nodded slowly, mouth dry, but she smiled anyway and laid her hand on Patrick's, beckoning him back behind her. "Alright, just me." The knight began to protest but she gave him a measured gaze, and he fell back.

He pulled on her elbow. "Be careful in there. Do you have your-"

"Yes, I have it. Don't cause trouble, Ser Patrick, I don't have time for that."

"You're more worried about I?" he asked, anger flaring.

"Stay." She glanced at the minotaur. "And don't play with him."

Fog had descended with her and the guard into the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon, but here it was the worst and she had to keep a keen eye on the clansman walking in front of her, lest she get lost.

The Milk Snakes had been the easiest clan to find, the first of many in her sights, their ripped banners flying high more than low. They were unafraid to be found by the men of the Vale and that Billie was thankful for. The Painted Dogs, meanwhile, hid between trees and underneath rocks. Camouflaged like their name suggested it.

The camp had been fashioned out of a hallowed rock falling over the clearing, half of it protected by the stone. There the tents were set, the fires, and the perishables, against the rain and wind and frost. She was led to the farthest home, encircled by men taller than her and more armed than her, even if it was brittle bronze and threaded leathers. She stepped over roots and grass as they trampled beside her, and the man in front turned to her, throwing his arm out to motion her into the tent. The place was bigger from the inside, but it wasn't what brought her dark gaze forward.

A white snake rested atop a black woman, her eyes closed as she hummed and let the reptile swim over her shoulders, its tongue flicking out with Billie's own heartbeat.

The woman's eyes opened slowly and she shifted in her throne almost smugly. She extended an arm out and the snake traveled down it, wrapping around her hand and licking at her fingers. "Silver will not help you here," she crowed, black eyes on the animal's red ones.

Billie palmed at the coin purse at her side.

"Not silver as you may think, but the knife resting against your hip."

The blonde shifted. "I hadn't thought of using it."

"I've heard of you, Billie Dean of the Vale," the clanswoman murmured. "Heard of your powers and your visions." She spit out the last word, voice dipping down an octave as her lip curled up in a light sneer.

"And I of you," the blonde replied. "Marie of the Milk Snakes, enchantress. I never thought I'd meet you, I wasn't sure you existed."

"I never thought I'd meet _you_ ," Marie echoed. "You hide at the top of mountains."

"We are born to our stations, some high, some low. You are born of fog and bramble."

"I was born of sea foam, Billie Dean," the woman corrected, gaze snapping up. "I am not of your country. Of any country."

Billie acquiesced of her head.

"What do you want?" Marie asked bluntly. "Yours do not speak to the First Men. We too low for you. What has changed?"

"We would strike up a truce," Billie replied. "An alliance."

Marie smiled, amused. "An alliance? Would you need men so badly as to lie?" The blonde frowned and began to speak but the woman stopped her with a raise of her hand. "Honesty is needed. Speak to me frankly, why seek me? The Milk Snakes are not the most powerful of the clans, nor do we make friends with the others. We are nothing to you in this coming war-" Marie grinned now, enjoying the look in Billie's eyes," "Yes, I know of this war. You must speak with your ghosts through smoke and herbs, they merely whisper to me when rolling down the mountain."

"It's true that my lady would have no want or need of yours," Billie murmured. "But the power, the magic you possess, the enormity of it. If it's a fraction of the stories I've heard..." the blonde trailed off, a hint of wonder in her dark eyes. "Magic a little darker than mine, perhaps."

Marie raised, the snake curling around her waist. "You use your tongue but what are you saying with it? Are mind tricks all that you know? We are not that different in language if it is so."

"I can see the dead, you can _raise_ the dead, would anyone try and lie and say they wouldn't want access to such magic?" Billie breathed back. "Your clan may be weak, but I would ask of your help."

"In exchange for?"

"Whatever you may wish. If you want, protection against the coming winter. Livestock, clothes, weapons."

"Why would you raise the dead?" Marie asked. She turned on Billie, eyebrows raised. "What would you do with the dead?"

The blonde shrugged softly. "The Vale needs men."

The woman laughed loudly, bitterly. "You think I would help you and the Andals?" She continued to laugh as she sat back into her throne, bones upon bones. "You are not as intelligent as I'd heard if you would use the undead." She leaned forward. "The undead are uncontrollable."

"I could control them."

"If I cannot, then you cannot. The undead have ears but know not how to use them," Marie replied, teeth gritted. She stood again, the snake's diamond head dangerously close to her throat. They watched her together.

Billie shook her head. "There is a slight difference between you and me, Marie, daughter of Legba. But then, the mountain clans are savages, aren't they? The difference is all there."

The blonde fell back with the blow she was given, her lip bursting open, and she could taste the metallic taste of blood and of the woman's ring where it had struck her. Her head was yanked back by Marie's strong grip in her hair and she gasped for breath as she looked up into black black eyes.

"You may use herbs for your tricks but you cannot deny words are stronger, though perhaps my hand is strong too. Perhaps you should learn a few things from me, Billie Dean, say a few incantations and then you might know the meaning of humility and being wrong. You cannot control the undead by yourself."

Billie smiled through the pain, mouth open as she laughed breathlessly.

"I see the dead, Marie, you raise the dead. Why should I control them alone?" she asked wistfully.

OOOoooOOO

Marie's creature had had to bend down to pass through the hall's double doors, its outer coat shed in the warm firelight permeating through the Eyrie, and Billie found that like her counterpart of an enchantress, it was hard to look away from its powerful musculature, or the gaping wound at its neck. One she hadn't seen in their first encounter.

It too, once, had been dead.

The minotaur hadn't taken the seat given to it by the cowering servant trying so hard to keep a straight face, fear in his shaking hands. Instead it stood behind the chair, hands resting atop his ax, the tip of it on the floor and his red eyes raking the room. Marie took its seat, using it as shield and sword as she raised her eyebrows and waited for a reaction from the Lady of the Vale.

Hayden watched her, hand at the base of Billie's back and the blonde's mouth to her ear as the woman whispered hurriedly into it.

Ser Patrick stood with his chest proudly thrust out, previously congratulated by his lady for his good work with the other clansmen, their chiefs and leaders now sat somewhat peacefully around the same table the enchantress was leaning against, hands around a hollowed horn filled with drink. He'd wrestled lightly with the leader of the Black Ears , but his courage had won him an honorary mention by him and the man with one ear now sat opposite of Marie, drinking heartily.

"You hate the crown."

They all turned, mutilated and ugly and dressed in rags, their mouths open and their breathing heavy, sweltering in the castle's sudden heat.

The chief of the Burned Men raised his horn. "Aye."

Lady Hayden nodded towards him, her abrupt words recognized in his cloudy eyes. She took a short walk around the room, eyes darting between the men.

"Why are we here? Why were we summoned like dogs by a shell of a man?"

Redfort stiffened. He stepped forward but Billie's arm on his stopped him, and he turned to her, gazing her down before snapping his elbow away.

Hayden turned back towards the Moon Brother. "You hate the crown, I do too."

"You're the crown's bitch," the Stone Crow hissed.

"I am," she snapped back. "Should I enjoy it?"

"Not a great feeling, ain't it, to have someone rule over your dominion?"

Hayden's jaw set. "No."

"And why should we care that you're getting the same treatment you've been harrowing out all these years? You and your ancestors, from the first Andals on?" The Stone Crow stood, fists against the table's surface. "We were the First Men, you pushed us out!"

"And I will right this wrong," she cried.

"Why?"

The men turned to Marie, curls of her hair tangled in her fingers as she watched on.

"Why what?" Hayden asked.

"Why would you right this wrong? Or should I be the only one to know the truth?" Marie's eyebrows raised until she was smiling, her grin smug. The Arryn girl glanced sharply at Billie, but the blonde stared back.

"You would lie to us already?" the Moon Brother said. "Why should we not cut out your tongue now?"

"Burn it out."

"Pull it out!"

"I have been harmed, men of the Vale," Hayden called. They settled long enough to listen, shifting their weights and their hands flirting with the knives at their belts. "I am not your ruler, I never claimed to be, but I am a daughter. And I, as a daughter, have been harmed. The man betrothed to me broke his word. The second man did the same. What would you do to the man betrothed who had dared find a bed that was not your daughter's?"

"He would not be alive," the Burned Man growled. "This is not our quarrel."

"It is when without this marriage, I am once more left alone to defend myself from the other kingdoms and the queen herself. She begins war against the north and the east, who says she will not bring battle to my doors? And when she does, would she spare your lives? Without a husband and his forces, I am left here in the Vale, defenseless."

"Then find a man for your sorry cunt!"

"If war is brought to the Eyrie, you will all die," Hayden hissed. "And then we can share this sorry cunt in the after-life. With your help, we can save each other."

Marie stood, the minotaur mirroring her motions behind her. "You are a cunning one, Lady Hayden." The brunette looked up sharply. "Your mouth is quick at lying, the winds did not lie when they told me you did it faster than they blew."

"How dare-"

"The truth, Lady Hayden. Give it to us," Marie said. "Even if it is in your blood to hold it."

Hayden stared at her, chest heaving and her hazel eyes full of rage as the men around them waited. She bit the inside of her cheek, shifting her weight as she cocked her her hip.

"I want Westeros."

Billie looked away. "Seven hells."

"There is no threat to us until I demand it. Whatever fighting may occur, it will happen in King's Landing, far from us and far from you. But I want the seven kingdoms for myself, for my family. If you follow me to the capital and you win the kingdoms for me, you will be well rewarded. And there I do not hold the truth."

"Rewarded how?" a Painted Dog demanded.

"Kingdoms of your own, the grandest honor you may have. I will unite, then break, and each new country will be ruled by each of you. Westeros of the Andals will be no more. All I ask if your help in this war."

"You would lie to have our forces," the Black Ear growled.

"I would have, if not for your enchantress."

A ripple ran through the crowd, the men speaking between themselves and hurling words at her, too loud and too quick for her to understand. She turned to Billie, momentarily panicked, but it was Ser Patrick who nodded at her, reassuring her with a single hold on his sword. She began to open her mouth, bent on asking him to come closer, to hold her arm or her hand or something that would make her feel safer, but she turned, her name called in fury.

"To war!"

Billie looked up from the floor, unable to hide the light surprise from her eyes, surprise not unseen by her lady.

The cry was yelled out again, the clansmen roaring it back around at each other until it was warped and combined with fists banging against the table and spear butts rapping against the stone floors. The sudden change had Hayden breathing heavily, wondering why but not daring to ask.

She moved forward but a dark hand around her elbow held her back and she looked up into black eyes framed in red, heart missing a beat at Marie's sudden appearance at her side. She glanced at her empty chair, wondering how it was she'd made her way to her so quickly but she was pulled back into the woman's gaze.

"These men are idiots," she hissed into her ear. "Nothing more than rage building through their veins at empty promises. I will not have them empty for what I must do for you in this war, so what is in it for me? I don't need no kingdom, Lady Hayden of the Vale, I need more than that. What is in it for me?" she repeated.

"What is in it for what? It's only men you're giving," Hayden snapped back.

Marie took her jaw in between sharp nails and turned her gaze onto Billie's, the blonde watching the minotaur still.

"What has she promised you?" the brunette asked softly, grappling at the grip on her neck. "It is not what she has promised, but what she has asked."

"What did she do?"

OOOoooOOO

"One wonders why they took to you so quickly. Perhaps they admire your ambition, your absolute need to receive what you think you deserve. Even if you need to lie," Billie mused. She turned on herself to look over Hayden, the girl in the frame of her door. "What can I help you with?" The brunette didn't reply, giving the blonde a trenchant shake of her head, and Billie shrugged. "That's most likely it. I thank the Seven that the clansmen saw your ambition as something honorable."

" _My_ ambitions? This was _your_ idea."

"You didn't say no." Billie's eyebrows raised. "You didn't even flinch."

"I'm not here for an analysis of my character," Hayden snapped. "What did you ask of Marie of the Milk Snakes? What did you promise her for it?"

"I promised her what I needed to have her sitting in that chair today," the blonde replied. She reached for a towel to wipe at her hands, candlewax dry on her fingers. "What I asked of her is my issue alone."

"It's not your issue alone when you plan to bring back centuries of the dead!" Hayden hissed.

Billie turned. "She told you."

"She threw up her words at me, she was so smug, so excited to tell me what you were doing. It was disgusting to see her like that." The Arryn heir stepped down the stairs and into Billie's haven. "Are you insane?"

Billie's gaze skirted with the wall as she continued to rub the wax off of her hands. It'd trickled down her arm as it'd stiffened. "We need them, Hayden."

"Do we?"

"We're not strong enough in numbers, with them we're invincible. And there won't be any losses," Billie added. "Not terminal ones, anyway."

"You would kill those killed, again?"

"Marie says they are but shells when brought back, they know nothing but war and rage. They are only puppets, we wouldn't be killing them again," Billie replied, and she shrugged. "Just cutting their strings."

"I want none of this on my hands," Hayden said.

"You won't."

The brunette bit the inside of her cheek. "You're sure this will work? That they will help us win?"

The blonde glanced at the girl and smiled. "Only the results can tell. But the winds you hear-?" She paused and watched Hayden perk her ears, listening to the air in the walls. "Those are winds of favor."

Hayden let out a heavy breath, eyes on the bricks around them. "I have a Walker for counsel."

"You flatter me," Billie deadpanned. "But I'm no northern ice demon."

"Sometimes I wonder."

OOOoooOOO

The words were foreign to her, a tongue she didn't know or had ever heard, but it was if as the sounds were home to her. They ran through her bloodstream and into the corners of her eyes and bled out of her fingernails in green tendrils of smoke. Billie listened to them and took them in and breathed them back out between blinks of her dark eyes, Marie's own cloudy white gaze turned to the heavens as if staring through the stone of the Eyrie's hall vaulted ceilinged hall.

Lady Hayden had had most of the castle evacuated with some meager excuse, and she sat now on her throne with Ser Patrick carefully standing at her side. The minotaur had refused to stand by them, and instead had taken place in the stairs, eyes raking the scene.

Billie's gaze snapped back to the enchantress, the woman raising her hands to the sky as she called out in that language she didn't know, as thunder cracked outside. She looked to the closed moon door in the center of the room, rotting bodies, some just bones stringed together with some flesh, piled high onto it in a pyramid of grotesque art.

The minotaur had had great pleasure in digging and constructing the structure.

They were naked, all of them, their bodies stripped of their armors for the ritual, the metal against the walls. Most shields were rusted in lines and circles, some had only silver left, while the swords were dented and would need sharpening. The oldest were of bronze, those would be useless.

Billie had been the one to place the candles around the circle, thankful that the windows had been opened and that the storm brought gales of air through, though it smelled like death nonetheless. She watched the flames flicker now, magic keeping them lit through the rain and through the wind. They seemed to grow brighter with the woman's words, seemed to bounce with the rhythm of her voice, and Billie found herself murmuring along to the phrases she repeated, entranced.

A finger at the bottom of the pile shifted first, something so quick the blonde thought she'd imagined it, but it flexed again, attached to nothing but a torso, the head hidden somewhere beneath a thigh. It flexed and stirred and the whole hand began to move, pale and blue veins empty of blood. The arm bent at the elbow, snapping up and reaching for the ceiling.

And the pyramid began to collapse in on itself.

The voice of the dead rose, cries and screams and croaked out whines as they began to move and rise and untangle themselves from each other, though some couldn't and they stood together, attached in various ways. Some fell as Marie repeated her spells louder and louder, invoking whoever she invoked. They ran into each other, hit each other, became angry and began to yell intelligibly. The enchantress's black eyes turned to Billie, cloudy whites gone, and she nodded tightly, the blonde shaking her head back. Now the smell of death permeated their clothes and she wanted to gag, but she took a step forward and she raised her hands and they turned to her, the damned and unholy.

She breathed into the space between them and her and they softened, their arms falling to their sides as they listened, smelled the candles and took in her own magic, something a little less dark than what had risen them from unrestfullness.

Marie had been able to raise them but only she could hear their harrowed whispers, could understand the words they spoke between broken and missing teeth. The spirits spoke to her and her only and she held that power over them, knowing Hayden was watching.

In a semblance of lines one behind each other they stood, hundreds of dead groaning as they breathed as best they could, the ones who had eyes with their gazes on the armors against the walls, but they listened. They listened as she let her voice echo on the walls and in the wind.

"Your Lady Luck stands before you in the form of a silver tipped falcon." She glanced back at Hayden. The girl stood, crown tipping dangerously on her chestnut hair, and Billie continued. "Lay your second life unto her."

They whispered back 'why' in a tumultuous roar, her queen and the enchantress and Ser Patrick wincing at the demonic noise, and Hayden looked to her questioningly, panicked. She shook her head back.

"You have been commanded," she replied to them. "By your necromancer and your translator, your queen. You lay your life to the first Arryn you swore onto, lay it for her now. Honor and courage and fealty."

"Arryn," they murmured back. "High as Honor."

"We go to war to protect ourselves and our stake on the Vale, we go to King's Landing to fight the lion."

She was lying but they would know no better.

"Blackwater Bay," one hissed at her, water bubbling out of his mouth and the slit along its throat. Drowned after death. She ignored him and the lake pooling at his feet.

"Will you fight for your people, your descendance, and their safety?"

They screamed back, high pitched cries and they scrambled past her to the weapons, the shields and the cuirasses, and she turned with them to fix Hayden with her black eyes. The queen's gaze was wide as she watched the scene unfold, Marie having found her way to her side.

Hayden swallowed lightly. "Is that a yes?"


	6. Lover to Lover

**Headcanoned with an beta-ed by graceonce**

 **Rated M for mentions of rape, child sexual abuse and language.**

 ** _Four Months Before the Battle of Visenya's Hill_**

An odd wind whipped against her skin, a gust that had no provenance but that swept up underneath her skirts and irked her as she held them down to her legs. It carried red sand in its tendrils, red sand and yellow sand.

Behind her stood lush grasses, leading to white clouded skies and her home, farther into the northwest, but before her stood red wastelands, its horizons vague with insurmountable heat. The farther south she went, the farther down her heart sank, and there was nothing she could do now to stop it.

The sands carried her coming death.

She'd tried so hard to fight her uncle, the hold her aunt had over him, but it hadn't worked. She'd begged, been disgustingly nice, been horrid with them, said things she shouldn't have. But they hadn't moved.

"It doesn't matter what you say," her aunt had said. She'd brought her hand to her face and sniffed once into her handkerchief before throwing it down across her place at the table, looking away with a decided grimace. "You're going and that's it." She'd turned to her husband, hoping for some validation, but he'd only stared at a point on the wall, and she'd sighed angrily. "It's best for you, and for us."

"For you."

"For you," her aunt had snapped. "You'll have a home, be thankful we found one for you."

She now glanced back over her shoulder, the same aunt now standing rigidly and staring ahead at the dusty plains, the riders on their mounts still a kilometer off. Her lord, Charles, turned lightly to give the girl a tight smile, a little wave of his fingers, and she fought the urge to smile back.

As horrid as his wife Nora was, Charles was a sweetheart, if not often there of the mind. A sweetheart when awake. His chestnut hair had long since whitened, thinned out, and she wondered if she would follow his wake when she grew old. She tugged awkwardly at a strand of dirty blonde hair, closer to her aunt's colors though she held no blood ties to her, and looked back at the riders approaching.

Perhaps, if not the death of her life, then of her youth.

Madison Reyne was being dramatic.

She had heard only good of the man she was betrothed to, this man, this boy, of Sunspear. She was but a year older than him, but at their age, a year was so important. She hoped for someone mature, someone as gentle as Charles, someone unlike the father that had let her down. Her mother.

Destitute.

That was the word her family had used. Such a pretty word for such a harsh fate, a fate of mines running dry beneath their home country. And now she was being married, no, _sold_ , to a boy of eighteen years to bring in money so that the remaining Reynes in the form of her uncle and aunt could live comfortably at Castamere. While she toiled away in blistering heat, doing god knew _what_.

The Dornish were savages, she had always been taught so. The cape of the continent had been taken by the Lannister king in the last of his campaign. After he'd taken the rest of Westeros from Highgarden to the Wall, he'd turned his green eyes upon Dorne, and the last battles had been bloody, reckless. The Dornishmen had lost their independence, but had gained animosity towards what they now had to call their new country. The new Westeros. The Seven Kingdoms.

Savages, as they were.

Far off, a cloud of dust rose, and the ground beneath the small party constituted of her, her aunt and uncle, and a dozen men, shook as if an earthquake was slowly rumbling to life. It was the horses doing it, their hooves to the earth in thunderous claps from the weight they carried. Dornish horses had always been huge things, standing taller than any other breed, save perhaps the Dothraki mounts.

She wondered if it was worse to be married to a Dornish or to a Dothraki. Essos was far, but so was Dorne when one couldn't travel to her heart's content.

They'd taken the Oceanroad from Castamere to Highgarden, Charles's spirits falling a little more when he learned he would miss a tournament two or three months off, the two of them knowing Nora would never allow him to attend, not with his gambling addiction and the possibility of him using her newfound dowry. They'd taken a few days at Nightsong to rest before moving through the Prince's Pass, the mountains on either side of the road tall and overlooming, creating shadows that had spared them from the heat as they traveled into the desert.

She fixed her golden dress again as the Dornish party moved closer and closer, and she thought her heart was hammering louder than they. She glanced sideways when her aunt came to stand at her side, the woman's ice blue eyes on the approaching men.

"You already look the part," Nora murmured.

"What?"

The older blonde looked at her. "They like yellows, oranges. I picked the right dress for you."

"Charles said it matched my eyes."

Nora shook her head curtly, jaw tight. "That doesn't matter much, as long as it pleases them."

Madison turned away, grimacing.

And the Dornishmen came to a stop a dozen feet off from them, wind following them. All were tanned, their muscles rolling beneath their light shirts as they unmounted their horses and bowed in succession, the Reynes doing the same back. Madison noticed that while most had night black hair, some had theirs bleached blonde by sun and ocean, their figures leaner. Swimmers and fishers.

She guessed the youngest man, her arranged husband, liked water too, his blonde curls falling into his dark eyelashes as he looked her over from a few feet away. He was shifting endlessly, undoing and redoing the grip he had on the bottom of his blouse before dropping his arms limply to his sides. Moments later he brought his hands to the small of his back.

"Madison," Charles breathed out. "Meet Kyle Nymeros Martell of Sunspear, Prince of Dorne." The blonde curtsied, her hand in Charles's, fingers gripping tight.

The boy glanced sideways at his companions and after being prompted, bowed stiffly.

She nodded, mouth threatening to open in awe and confusion as she looked to her uncle, but he would not meet her gaze. Anger suddenly ran through her and in the heat she wanted to pant to cool down, but she fought it, instead focusing on keeping her scowl from her features. The blond looked to her again, his gaze shying away when she tried to meet his, and finally he turned on himself and walked back to his horse's side, waiting.

Charles sighed in her ear. "This is where our paths diverge, Maddie."

She turned abruptly, shielding her face and her rising anger to speak to him. "You're leaving?" She looked to her aunt. "Aren't you coming to Sunspear?"

"And do what there?" Nora responded haughtily.

"Any other family would have followed their daughter to her marriage!" she snapped.

"You're not ours."

Madison opened her mouth to reply but Charles took her hand and pulled her away from the older blonde. "Maddie, you know we can't stay away from Castamere long."

"You know how colicky Thaddeus gets without me," Nora added in a hum. The girl's uncle grimaced, teeth gritted, and Madison had to fight back her disbelieving laugh. Charles gave her a pleading look as he pulled her a little farther away.

Madison glanced back over her shoulder. "Why is it always about him?" she whispered hotly. "Uncle, you can't leave me here alone."

"You're not alone, you've got a welcoming party and half our men will accompany you before coming home. There are more girls in Sunspear that are your age, in the Water Gardens. You'll make friends. You won't be alone," he assured her.

"Friends?" she echoed.

"Please, Madison, don't make this harder than it needs to be. This is how the world works. How it turns." He bumped her forehead with his. "Try to be nice."

"This is a mistake," she spit half-heartedly. "And you'll know it when it comes back to bite you in the ass."

"I know. I've made mistakes before."

She ripped away, sneering at him and then at Nora, the older woman returning it easily, and walked to the Dornish side with her head held high. She wouldn't let them think she was anything but in control. Her horse was brought to her by a man wearing her colors and her sigil, a golden-tongued red lion on a field of silver, and she took the reins, pushing away his helping hand when she mounted it.

There was no need for goodbyes now, Nora had hugged her stiffly before they'd left Nightsong.

OOOoooOOO

She slept atop her horse, some Dornishman keeping it steady with her reins in his hand as they slowly traveled from the Pass to Hellholt, Sandstone a point in the distance.

She'd been told it'd take five days to reach Sunspear, only five if they didn't stop long to eat or to rest and if they walked through the cool nights. She'd been told the desert was not a good place to break down in, not a good place to stop in, and she had no want to find out why they'd said that and so when they asked her if she wanted to pause for an hour, she said no, her tone scathing and her eyes blazing like the sun overhead.

Kyle had glanced back at that, something quick, weasel like in the way he darted out of her eyesight again, and she couldn't help but think that being bitterly sweet (if only for a moment) hadn't gotten her noticed, but being her usual self had.

At least there was that; she'd never been a very good actress.

When she wasn't as exhausted she dared move to be close to him, finding his gaze straight ahead and she found it peculiar that though his arms were bare and his chemise open, he had his hood up and resting down on his forehead. It seemed so thick, the material, and she thought she could see a bead of sweat rolling down his ear.

The question was dumb but it was a question like any other to begin a conversation. "Aren't you hot?"

He glanced at her, as if surprised that she'd speak to him, and he shrugged. She flushed almost angrily. Nonchalance wasn't something men gave her, not in abundance like he was doing. The comments thrown her way were seldom welcome, though she flirted right back, but that she hadn't received any from her soon-to-be husband annoyed her.

"You could have the decency of answering me," she said.

He looked to her again, black eyes narrowed in confusion, some hint of what seemed to be indifference (or maybe it was loss) in them, and he shifted his mount a few feet away, leaving her to smolder underneath the sun. In all her life she'd never been so insulted, no physical abuse from her aunt had ever amounted to this. She'd been taken against her will by Lannister men and she hadn't felt as thrown away as in this moment, not even during the assault. If she'd had a sword she'd have ripped it out of her scabbard, but she was a lady and ladies didn't carry weapons.

She ignored the cool kiss of the small dagger resting against her thigh, a gift of Charles's.

Hellholt had been badly burned by dragonfire once, it was evident in the awkward coloring the stones had, the way the river Brimstone seemed to run black as it winded through its streets, its pebbles like night. Here they stopped for cold water and lunch in an inn. The place was deserted, the owner watching them from the counter with a pipe between his lips as his wife bustled to feed the party. Madison had heard that at noon no one worked, the sun too high in the sky to provide any kind of relief, but she hadn't thought it to be true.

They took off again with their bellies full and with Kyle's hood tight around his blonde curls, gaze evading hers as he winced every few seconds. He held one hand to his temple, fingers pushing into his skin with his palm against his ear and she figured he had a migraine. The heat gave her one too.

She was about to ask when he suddenly grunted and turned his horse to the south, trailing off from the group. The guard by her side came to take the spot he'd been at and she watched as the boy let the mount take him wherever it would, both his hands to his forehead.

"Is he alright?"

"He gets emotional," came the brief reply, and she nodded lightly, eyebrows up in disguised disgust as she wondered if her uncle had said anything that might have betrayed his knowledge to the young heir's irrational behavior.

Time passed rather quickly as she fought to imagine what his voice sounded like, if it was deep or light or scratched. Vaith came and went, the dunes shifting beneath them with the heavy winds they had to protect themselves against. Vaith came and went and so did Godsgrace at their left, high in the sky, and when the time to cross the Greenblood came, they found it almost dry.

It puzzled her, in the rest of the kingdoms winter was approaching but here it was as if seasons didn't exist, as if summer permeated in Dorne, and if it didn't, she didn't want to know what summer truly felt like. Maybe she could ask Kyle to let her go home during winters. She could always say he hadn't _said_ no.

They followed the river past Shandystone, stopping long enough so that they could all rest at the same time, something that hadn't happened so far, but they quickly continued to Planky Town. She'd wanted to laugh at the name.

It turned out to be a trading town, vessels from across the Narrow Sea meeting at the Greenblood's mouth. She now knew from where wine was sent to Essos, and perhaps from where, once upon a time, jewels from her family's mines had been sent abroad too. The captain of Kyle's guard paused long enough to speak in what seemed to be Valyrian to a tanned man, laughing as he glanced back at his team, dark eyes landing on Madison. She bristled until he looked away.

When they were off again, she stared him down from beside him until he laughed lightly, shaking his head. "I was only making sure the shipments would be here on time for the wedding, my lady. Meats from the Free Cities, favorites of Prince Kyle's."

She sniffed but said nothing. She knew she, blonde and pale skinned, wouldn't be anyone's favorite here in Dorne.

Sunspear was seen an hour later, the towers rising into the dying sun, hazy in the heat to where she thought it'd been an illusion ten minutes prior, afraid to mention it. Kyle rode ahead, backside off his saddle and head down as he sprinted the way home.

She followed slowly, unwilling to admit that she was here, a week away from her past and so far into the desert that nothing held green to it anymore.

The city was walled with three ramparts, each encircling the other and each a testament to her expansion.

Circles inside circles.

Three gates followed each other, lined into a straight road that led from the field outside the maze of homes and stores to the old palace at the top of the hill and offered a passage through the labyrinth.

Urbanisation, not urbanism.

From where they rode she could see two tall towers rising from the palace, a dromond not far, and attached to the outside walls, the Shadow City of Sunspear, where the country's less reputable hovels stood, packed together in both space and mud bricks cooked in the sun.

The guard beside her pointed out with his hand. "The Spear Tower, the Tower of the Sun, the Sandship."

"Sandship?"

"The house of Nymeros Martell's former home, they now live within the palace. The crown prince sits the Sun."

"And what's the Spear Tower for?"

"Noble prisoners."

She grimaced.

"They're treated well," he added.

She turned her hazel gaze to it, the sun backlighting its height and its stone masonry to black and turning its steel tip to silver, the thing probably two hundred feet in the air. The Tower of the Sun was less intimidating, its gold and colored glass dome giving off a warm glow.

There they were headed, the horses knowing their way home. The doors were opened by two guards on the outside, two from the inside, all bowing to Kyle as he passed and threw his hood back onto his shoulders, sighing out. He'd waited for them to cross into his harem of dust and heat. The walls were high, the gardens free to the skies, watered by what seemed to be underground pipes. They left their mounts to be tended to by servants, Madison trying to ignore their wandering hands and soft-spoken words. She lifted the front of her dress and followed Kyle and his guard inside the Tower of the Sun.

The floors were a clear marble, almost translucent as they were so pale, and farther off she could see the thrones, two on a raised platform and both painted, though they held different motifs on their backs. Kyle marched to the one inlaid with a golden spear and sat down, sighing again as he placed his chin in his hand and raked through his hair with his free fingers. He looked up at Madison, noticing her standing there awkwardly (though she was trying hard to own the room, chin tilted up and hands clasped firmly at her sides, like Nora had always done), and he nodded to the throne beside him, the one with a blazing sun. She'd heard of Nymeria's ships, of their flags, and she knew the house revered both matriarch and patriarch.

It made her feel slightly better.

She walked to it, heels muffled on the crimson carpet beneath her, but a piercing laugh broke through the spherical room, and she turned abruptly, fingers tight in balled up fists. Feet from her, Kyle froze.

"Surely you wouldn't think of sitting my seat?" the woman approaching said. Madison watched her, unsure of what to do as she glanced sideways at a Kyle who'd let his gaze drop to the floor. "The princess regent sits at the princess's throne." Dark eyes so reminiscing of the crown prince's met hers, and the brunette only slightly taller than the Reyne smiled.

"Who are you?"

The blonde bowed quickly. "Lady Madison Reyne of Castamere, your highness."

A guard cleared his throat, and only then did Madison notice the room had bowed alongside her. "Princess Alicia of Dorne, mother to the crown prince."

"You're here. Already," Alicia murmured. "You must have run!" she exclaimed. "Come." She held her arms out, motioning the girl closer, and slowly Madison made her way over, surprised when she was pulled into a rib splitting hug, begging for personal space as she squirmed. This close she could see the metal embedded in the woman's face like decoration, and her head was pressed to the princess's chest as she gritted her teeth lightly. "My daughter."

 _Seven hells._

"Have another chair brought in," the woman called. "For Lady Madison." She turned to the blonde, patting the hand she held in between her fingers. "You'll sit next to me."

 _Seven hells and R'hllor almighty._

OOOoooOOO

"My name is Zoe."

Madison nodded from behind her glass, grimacing as she drank. "Okay."

"I've been assigned as your lady-in-waiting."

"Good for you."

The girl before her shifted her weight, searching for her words as she glanced at her prince for some type of support, but the boy ignored her as he reached for an orange from a fruit bowl across the breakfast table.

"If you need anything, you may ask me."

Madison put her glass down and pressed her hands between her knees, leaning forward. "Are you a native?"

"My lady?"

"Are you a native," Madison echoed. "Of Dorne. Of here."

"Of Sunspear," Zoe clarified. "Yes. Of the noble houses."

The older blonde nodded and leaned back into her chair, shoulder blades flush to the wood. "You'll help me dress, then," she sighed. "I can't possibly tighten anything on my own."

Zoe bowed lightly. "As you wish."

The rooms she'd been given the night before, far from Kyle's of course, were larger than the ones she'd had in Castamere, the room open to the outside and the breeze shifting the curtains. The temperatures had fallen with the sun and she'd been comfortable enough to sleep, but now she was itching to get out of her heavy dress and into cloths that were more appropriate to the country. Zoe followed her, five steps behind.

There was no lock on the door, something Madison had found out the night before when she'd entered, and no guards guarding it either, and it bothered her lightly and she wondered if the entirety of the palace was so trusting. She went to the mirror and waited as her lady went to the closet and picked out a few possible outfits, laying them out on her bed as Madison went and pulled her garment up over her head. She reached for a corset.

"Dornish court is so…informal." Madison narrowed her eyes at her reflection as she tightened the ties close to her breasts, swatting Zoe's hands away. "Your queen hugged me when she met me."

"Princess," Zoe corrected. "She's friendly."

"A little too much," the dirty blonde sighed. She glanced back over her shoulder. "Bring me a skirt, will you?"

Zoe did as she was told, taking the few steps to the girl's bed and picking at the cloth, smiling. "Does it bother you so much?"

"Matriarchs have never been friendly to me."

"Would you like me to ask her to-"

"Don't tell her anything," Madison snapped. "I can speak for myself, I don't need you. And if I'm to be married to her son, I'm sure she wouldn't want to hear those words. No matter how true they may be." She grimaced. "What's wrong with him, anyway? The crown prince Kyle, I mean."

Zoe looked up, surprised. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong with him."

"He's ignored me the entire ride, this morning too. I wouldn't say he's very respectful." She turned when Zoe began to laugh lightly, and the younger girl shook her head.

"You'll have to forgive him. He just," Zoe shrugged, "Doesn't speak. He can read, and write, and comprehend, but he chooses not to speak."

"You're saying he's mute."

"In a way."

"At least I won't be interrupted mid-thought."

Zoe smiled. "There is that."

"How does anybody know what he wants?"

"He has an interpreter, they've worked together long enough that she can speak his needs for him," the lighter blonde explained. She bit her lower lip. "Though, he does, well he does have tantrums here and there."

Madison's hazel eyes met Zoe's in the mirror. "Tantrums."

"When he's heard too many noises, when things are going too fast. He gets upset. It's not common, we try to keep the palace calm."

"So something is wrong with him."

"No, I think it might just be a factor from not being able to communicate. We don't always understand what he wants." Zoe frowned. "There's nothing wrong with him. He's a wonderful man."

"As long as his manhood works, right?" Madison laughed.

"You Westerosi are strange," the younger girl hummed. She reached for the back of the skirt and began tying knots.

"It's something my aunt used to tell me, when she got mad at my uncle, when he would leave Thaddeus to her to take care of through his colics," the dirty blonde replied. "It's harmless."

"Your aunt and uncle have a child?"

Madison shrugged on a light shawl, tying it in a light bow at the junction of her breasts. "No, Thaddeus died before his sixth month."

OOOoooOOO

"The wedding is planned for in three months, have you chosen the types of flowers you'd like yet?"

"Would it be too much to ask for a bouquet from the Reach?"

The girl in front of her, black skinned and round, began to frown and she sighed, waving her hand vaguely. "I figured not. What grows here?"

"Many things, my lady," Zoe offered. "The Water Gardens house the greatest amount of flaura, would you wish to visit and see?"

Madison turned to her. "Water Gardens? Queenie, why didn't you tell me?"

The black girl scowled. "You hadn't asked, my lady."

"I'm asking now," the dirty blonde precised. "Where are they? Are they far?"

"Three leagues from here, we can spend the afternoon," Zoe said. "You would meet many people there."

"People?"

"Nobles and high dignitaries, along with the common folk that will be your charge when you are crowned princess of Dorne."

"I care about the common folk?"

Queenie sighed shortly. "Everyone is allowed within the gardens."

"Though it was originally Nymeros Martell's private residence."

Madison's eyebrow raised. "And why isn't it anymore?"

"A hot day and a weak heart," Queenie replied.

"Alright, have horses readied. I'll take you two and four guards," the dirty blonde sighed. She stood and flattened her skirt. "I'll pick your damned flowers and then you'll leave me alone, correct?" She didn't wait for Queenie's answer and began to leave her solar, Zoe following closely. "Prince Kyle will want to come."

"Why?"

"He loves the gardens, and if you go he'll have an excuse to go too, he's had too much work lately to visit on his own."

"Do what you want. It's not like he'll bore us."

Zoe grimaced lightly but diverged from her lady's path, taking the hallway to their right. "An hour from now, Lady Madison."

"An hour," the dirty blonde called back.

It took two to reach the gardens, the structure on a beach by the Summer Sea and off of the coastal road. Pink marble paved the way there and the floors of the buildings, the porticos, the terraces. Blood orange trees gave off shade, apple trees and tall oaks and palm trees that swayed in the ocean breeze, all overlooking fountains and basins and deeper pools.

It would have been peaceful to Madison if not for the joyful shrieking from the bodies in the water, splashing and chasing and swimming. She landed on the ground and cocked her hip out, grimacing as Kyle left her side and immediatly went to one of the parlors, a guard following him with a chest he'd been adamant on bringing with him.

 _Silently adamant, anyway._

She peered around, hazel eyes narrowed in the afternoon sun. "These," Madison bit back a snort, "These are all children."

"Yes they are," Queenie said from behind her and she couldn't help the glee in her gaze, though she turned away when the Reyne girl turned to glare at her.

"Children of nobles and high dignitaries and the common folk," Zoe murmured. "Here we foster them all, educate them at the same degree. They all deserve a chance."

Madison went to bite back but the black girl took her elbow, leading her farther into the gardens. "The flowers are growing back here."

"Zoe!"

The three turned abruptly, watching a girl no older than fifteen running towards them, black haired but pale skinned. The blonde by Madison smiled and she hugged the newcomer.

"Lady Madison, meet Nan, the crown prince's official interpreter."

"A relaxed court," the girl muttered, but she quickly faked a smile and took Nan in her arms, ignoring the sweat sticking to her skin. "You speak his language then, or lack thereof?"

"I've known him a long time. You are his fiancée then, from the north?"

"It's not exactly the north, but I'd figure that looking at it from here, it would be."

"He's a wonderful man," Nan said. "You're quite lucky."

"Isn't she?" Zoe sighed.

"Yes, well, you'll have to forgive me but Queenie wanted to show me-"

"Is Princess Alicia here?"

Madison stared as she laughed lightly, incredulously. "Do you interrupt others often?"

"Not today," Zoe answered Nan.

"This is unbelievable," the dirty blonde muttered. "Queenie, show me the way."

They left the two younger girls to themselves and Madison was about to complain when she realized she didn't want to speak to the black woman walking behind her. She muttered to herself instead as she scanned the flowers at their feet, a rainbow of colors that would have delighted anyone else.

"Do you have a favorite color?"

Madison glanced back at her lady-in-waiting. "What does princess Alicia prefer?"

"Baby blues, I would think. Or soft pinks," Queenie replied. "Are you looking to please her?"

"I'm looking not to make enemies during my first month. I think the chrysanthemums will do, there's enough shades." The Reyne narrowed her eyes. "But perhaps white roses for my personal bouquet."

"White symbolises purity."

"Thank you, Queenie, I know," Madison muttered. "Are you trying to insinuate something?"

The black girl bowed lightly. "Not at all." She reached for the bottle of ink she'd brought with her and balanced it on a wall to find her quill and parchment. "I'll write it in."

"You're a doll," the dirty blonde said. "Did we come here just for this, then?"

"Prince Kyle won't want to leave before the sun starts setting. The gardens are made to relax, why don't you try it?"

"I doubt I will."

But she left Queenie to her scribbling and walked the hallways anyway, arms crossed over her shoulders, almost cold in the shade. She went up the spiral staircase to the second floor, taking a moment to lean on a bannister and look out at the pools, finding Zoe and Queenie talking on a bench beneath a tree, but Nan was not there.

But her voice was.

She tilted her head to the side, noting the girl's high pitched whine was coming from somewhere near, and turned to follow it. It came from a room off of the portico, light streaming in, and she paused, watching Kyle laughing.

A noise she'd never heard.

Nan was at his side, giggling too as she spoke low to him and he nodded again, biting his lower lip in utter glee.

"Hi."

The two looked up and Kyle grinned, waving her over as Nan took a step back, bowing lightly.

"What are you doing?" Madison asked softly.

"His favorite pastime, my lady."

"Oh?" the dirty blonde murmured. She flipped through the pages on the table, Kyle pushing a few towards her, and she smiled seeing maps upon maps upon maps. "Did you do these yourself?"

"He did."

"You're, well, you're talented."

The boy glanced back at Nan, frowning lightly, and the girl shook her head. "He wonders if you thought he wasn't."

"All that in a gaze?" Madison shrugged. "I just didn't think you'd be an artist."

He suddenly reached forward and quickly searched for a specific paper, throwing the ones he didn't need to the floor, and finally he held one up to her, smiling broadly from behind the parchment.

"Is, is this Castamere?"

"He had your castle described."

"Seven hells, this is perfect."

"It's not finished. It'll be your wedding present, to put in your room."

"Kyle, thank you."

He nodded and folded the paper before putting it back in the chest he'd had brought.

"It's getting late, my lady, perhaps we should head back to Sunspear?"

OOOoooOOO

"You could have told me you were headed to the gardens, you know how I love going."

Madison looked up, pausing mid-chew as she waited for Kyle to acknowledge his mother, but he only shrugged lightly as his eyes darted around his plate. The dirty blonde raised her eyebrows momentarily, grimacing as the silence continued.

Alicia sighed lightly. "I'd just like a little warning, is all. I like spending time with you, you know that." She reached for his hand. "You're my little boy."

Zoe's eyes raised to meet Madison's and she smiled sheepishly from where she stood at the window, ready to be called if needed, but her hazel eyes quickly dropped back to the floor when Kyle scraped his chair back to slouch a little further.

"Kyle, please, sit up."

He grunted once but didn't do as he was told, pricking his fork into his meat and playing with the pieces that came off.

"Kyle," Alicia tried again. "Not in front of your fiancée-"

"It's fine, really. If I'm going to be living with him, I should get used to it," Madison offered. The boy looked up, frowning softly but not unkindly, and she shrugged. "We've all got our flaws, and if his is that he slouches at the dinner table, then I'll be just fine."

His mother smiled. "You're a kind soul," she said, and Madison had to fight back the urge to snort.

"Kyle wonders what yours is, then."

The dirty blonde glanced back behind her, having forgotten that Nan had joined them for dinner along with Zoe and the guards at the hall's doors. "My what?"

"Your flaw."

"I've got plenty," she answered. "These forks are interesting, what are they made of?" She waved her night black fork around vaguely.

"Dragonglass," Alicia said. "Kyle, well, Kyle doesn't like the sound of metal against metal, so I had stone carved."

"Frozen fire," Madison breathed. "That's caring of you."

"I only want him to be comfortable."

Kyle set his knife down, his fingers falling to the table's edge and gripping there, his knuckles turning white.

"May he be excused?" Nan asked softly.

"Are you alright?" Alicia began to stand but Kyle stood faster, shaking his head firmly. He bowed stiffly to Madison and spared a glance to Zoe before leaving, his mother placing her head in her hands in his wake.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "He doesn't like when I speak aloud of his discomforts, though I do." She laughed nervously, fingers twisted together. Madison nodded softly, Zoe's eyes far from meeting hers. "You, ah, you may go, since you're finished," the woman added. "I pray you will sleep well tonight."

"I don't see why I shouldn't," Madison replied. "Thank you. Good night." Zoe followed her dutifully down the halls, steps behind, and the dirty blonde turned. "You can go eat, I can take care of myself from here."

"And undressing-?"

"I can do that myself, Zoe."

The younger blonde nodded, chewing on her bottom lip, and disappeared behind a corner, leaving Madison to find her room by herself. When she'd first arrived she'd needed help finding her way in the maze that was the palace, but now she knew the map like the back of her hand and she paced the halls alone whenever she could.

She slipped into bed nude, the heat flowing through the open windows too much for her to take if she stayed in a light shift, and she pushed the majority of her covers down the mattress, keeping only one.

And she couldn't fall asleep, hazel eyes on the ceiling then on the walls then on the moon when she propped herself up on her pillow. She glanced to the side when there was a light knocking from across the hall, muffled by her door, and she fell back underneath her cover, waiting.

Torch light flooded her floor from the flames on the hallway walls, and she watched a shadow play in the doorway, hesitating there for a moment before the figure entered and engulfed them in darkness again. Madison dropped her head to her pillow, pretending to sleep as she willed her breathing to slow, hazel eyes cracked open.

Her cover shifted, falling off her shoulder and into the dip of her waist, and fingers passed down her spine to cup the dimples in her back. She shifted, raising her head. "What are you doing?"

"I-Sorry. I was looking to see if you were awake."

"I am now," Madison lied.

"Right. It's just hot."

"I know. I've got it."

The figure nodded, backing away, and gave another shake of its head as it walked backwards, and Madison watched Princess Alicia leave her room on tiptoes.

OOOoooOOO

"Does she sleepwalk often?"

Zoe shrugged lightly, hand hovering in the air as she flitted her fingers through the warm air.

"This is one of those moments were I'm going to command you answer me," Madison started again. She looked up at the sky, unusually cloudy for a Dornish day, and she lifted her leg out of the water to scratch idly at her knee.

She'd had no want to take off her clothes to swim in the garden pools, instead choosing to just sit at the edge and dip her feet in, but Zoe had gone in and now rested her back on the pool's wall, Madison braiding her hair absentmindedly above her.

"She does, sometimes. She checks that we're asleep, that we don't need anything." Zoe bit her lower lip. "I had a nightmare once and she held me until I fell asleep."

"We have nannies for that in Castamere," Madison mumbled.

"We aren't in Castamere, my lady," the younger blonde sighed. "She cares, that's all."

"She came into my room without my permission," the older girl hissed back. "Do you know what that could be taken as, where I'm from?"

"I could only guess."

"It's bizarre, Zoe." Madison narrowed her eyes. "Why are there no locks on our doors?"

"I," Zoe frowned," Well, actually, I don't know. I never really noticed."

The dirty blonde tugged on the girl's hair, pulling her head back to look into her eyes, and she grimaced. Zoe shrugged apologetically in her grasp, a shiver tearing through her, and Madison let her go, unsatisfied. They both turned at her name being called, as Queenie walked to them at a fast pace that had sweat rolling down her temple. She bowed quickly and Madison raised her eyebrows, waiting.

"Princess Alicia and Prince Kyle wish to see you, letters have arrived from Westeros."

The dirty blonde stood, water dripping from her knees down, and she helped Zoe up by extending her hand out. "News from home?"

"I don't know where from, exactly," Queenie offered lightly. Madison waved her hand vaguely, pushing her away, and slipped into her shoes before running across the garden's fountains to the stairs. Her ladies shared a glance before following her to the portico's second floor.

She burst into the room Kyle had used the first time they'd been to the gardens and the crown prince looked up when she entered, brows furrowed together. His mother stood behind him, fingers in his curls and massaging, her free hand wrapped around a letter that she was reading out loud, but she paused to smile at Madison.

"Castamere?" Madison breathed out, panting.

Alicia shrugged lightly. "I don't know, you may look through the pile."

The dirty blonde took the stack Kyle offered her and passed through the letters, hazel eyes reading the names as Zoe read over her shoulder too and as Alicia continued to speak.

"-and as of this morning Lana Stark has passed the White Knife's junction."

Madison looked up. "Lana Stark? What is she doing at the White Knife?"

"Running after Oliver Bolton."

The dirty blonde glanced sideways at Nan, finally noticing her there. "Is she meaning to strike him down? Thank the gods, the man is strange."

Alicia shook her head. "I think it's more complicated than that. He's called King's Landing to help."

"He means to start a war," Madison mumbled, throwing another letter onto the table. She looked up when no one replied, finding Alicia's gaze on her. She shrugged. "I used to sit in on matters of war, back at home. My uncle wanted me to be well-versed." She looked to Kyle, wanting to find his chestnut eyes on her in astonishment and respect and pleasant surprise and maybe love but she found his watchful orbs on the space behind her instead. She bristled as Zoe shifted at her back.

"It doesn't matter, these news," Alicia soothed. "King's Landing is far, and the desert protects us."

"If it doesn't kill us first," the dirty blonde added, eyebrows raised. She threw another letter onto the table, disgusted. "There's nothing for me here."

"Perhaps the ravens are slow," Zoe said.

"Or maybe my family doesn't care, it's been three weeks since I've been here." Madison turned to watch her. "And I'm being married in less than one. A word of encouragement would not hurt them."

"Encouragement?" Zoe echoed. "You would need it to marry our crown prince?"

The hurt was evident in her eyes and the older girl grimaced. "I didn't mean it that way."

"It's fine, Lady Madison," Nan translated softly.

"It's _not_ ," Zoe spit. "I'm tired of hearing her complain all the time, we've been nothing but nice and inviting and all she does is, is _bitch!_ All the time! I can't stand here and watch her insult us anymore!"

"Then walk out," Alicia replied.

The youngest blonde watched her, chest heaving, and she nodded tightly before leaving, ignoring Kyle's sharp grunt as he stood to go after her. His mother placed her hand on his upper arm and stopped him, pulling him back down into his chair.

Kyle and Nan and Queenie watched Madison, dark eyes mirroring Alicia's lighter ones, but the princess looked down back at the letter in her hands, fingers pulling at her son's curls. He tried to edge away, but she didn't let him rise. His gaze bore into Madison's.

The girl let out a breath, huffed out in irritation and shame and she turned and left the room, hands at her skirt and pulling it up and out of the way. She traveled down the stairs, heels clacking angrily, and at the bottom of them she paused, cries reaching her.

She turned and found Zoe beneath the staircase, hid in the shadows and with her hand to her mouth, stifling her sobs. The Dornish girl looked up, stricken, and she pushed at the tears on her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"You love him, don't you."

Zoe stared back, surprised as she rubbed at her nose. "Excuse me?"

"Prince Kyle. You love him."

"How-"

"It's a little obvious." Madison ripped her gaze away, biting on the inside of her cheek as her knee moved up and down angrily. "I apologize."

"My lady-"

"For acting ungrateful. And for taking him from you. I wouldn't want you unhappy."

"I've been unhappy since I was old enough to know we would never be together." Zoe shifted, sniffing. "It's been a while."

"Why? I mean, you're a noble."

"I'm not good enough for a prince."

"And I am?"

Zoe shrugged, letting out a light laugh that Madison echoed in a small smile. The dirty blonde opened her arms and the younger girl crawled into her embrace, fingers digging into shoulder blades.

"I'm sure we can work this out. I don't want him unhappy because of me, either. I've seen how it works out when people are unhappy," Madison murmured. "It's no good."

Zoe pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps we can find something for the three of us." The dirty blonde glanced at her. "I'm not doing this for you, let's get that straight. This is for me. My happy ending."

Her lady nodded, a flush racing up her neck, and she smiled. "I know."

OOOoooOOO

Madison had been surprised that her Dornish girl had so easily taken to her idea of sharing, she herself was terrible at it, but she figured it had to do with the quiet love Zoe had for her crown prince, a quiet love that was so evidently there when she paid attention. It was small smiles and light touches, hands on shoulders and the way she carefully placed whatever he asked for in front of him when they were all together. It was in the way he held her hair when she needed to untie her shirt before entering the water.

And in his euphoric state of Zoe's sudden approval (apparently he too had long coveted her, and the Westerosi couldn't help but feel like an intruder now), he'd started treating Madison the same, holding her hand in public and showing her the various signs he used with Nan to communicate. He'd even begun to piece together the maps he'd made of Castamere, hanging them up on her bedroom walls and connecting them into coherence a day at a time. It would be completed for their wedding night. And he'd asked his mother to let Madison back at the table when letters were opened. The dowager princess had had to admit that she knew less of northern politics than the girl and she'd come to taking her advice in small matters that she deemed of lesser importance enough to let her children hear. Madison was more than delighted.

She felt wanted, between Kyle and his mother and Zoe keeping closer and closer to her as her wedding day approached, sitting by her at lunch and braiding her hair when asked. The help was welcome, it had always been but now, with the Dornish girl in a mood soaring higher than the gods themselves, Madison couldn't help but mirror her.

Kyle had his back to the pool's wall, wet curls dipping down his forehead and into his lashes as his chest raised and lowered slowly, Madison's head in the crook of his neck and with Zoe against his shoulder. He shifted lightly, wincing at his stiff muscles, but the girls didn't budge.

They'd arrived for lunch and ate on the terrace, fruits and cool water, having left Alicia and Queenie and Nan back at Sunspear to worry about the details of their marriage as they lazed about in the sun. Kyle and Madison would be united the day after at sunset and neither had any want to stay inside the palace, knowing from then on they would hardly have time to escape and come to the gardens. Alicia would relinquish her hold as dowager princess, giving her full rights to them both, and they would be required to stay at their thrones.

Madison shifted and Kyle tightened his hold on her, smiling when she looked up, and with his free hand he subtly asked if she was alright, palm to his chest and above Zoe's head.

She nodded, lips parted. "You should have said something."

He frowned lightly. _Zoe_?

"Yes. Your mother idolizes you, if you'd told her you loved her she would have married you two. I wouldn't be here, we wouldn't be in this mess." She watched him mouth and wave his fingers in the air, and she shook her head. "No, Kyle, it's a mess. She loves you and I-" She took a deep breath, finding herself strangling on her words. "I like you too."

 _I can like you both_.

She sighed lightly, furrowing her brow. "Would you leave me for her?"

He grimaced, but it was far from a 'yes'. He took a moment to compose himself, little grunts torn out of his throat as he traced patterns.

"That's sweet of you, that you wouldn't be physical with her," she said softly. "Thank you for taking your vows so seriously." She pushed a strand of Zoe's hair behind her ear. "Even if you haven't said them yet."

They both looked to the youngest blonde, her hazel eyes opening wide as she woke up, shifting against them. She blushed to the roots of her hair when she found them watching her, and she pulled away, water rippling around them. "I apologize, I must have fallen asleep-"

"You did. So did we," Madison said.

"Oh." Zoe looked away, but stood abruptly. "I have, I have things to do. I'll go do them." She grimaced. "I'm sorry, this is unusual."

"Because we're not?" the dirty blonde asked. Kyle grinned as he hid behind his hand, and Zoe softened.

"I do have things to do," the girl offered, and they nodded as they watched her leave, trailing water behind her.

Madison looked to Kyle, his dark eyes on Zoe's figure and a small smile playing on his face, and she couldn't help the sudden hate boiling in her heart.

OOOoooOOO

Madison pushed her chair back angrily, leaving her dinner untouched to follow Kyle as he stood and stormed out of the room. She called after him, fists swinging as she trailed after him in the hallways, the boy with his hands against his ears as he grunted at the walls.

Though the talks of marriage had been what had had him reacting this way the last few days, he'd calmed down to the idea, now it was politics that turned his mind on its ear. The prospects of changing the kingdom to put his branding mark on it, a mark that would go down through the generations so that one day, his name was revered and said in hushed awe. She wouldn't let herself fall to oblivion and namelessness if it was the last thing she did.

She called after him and he paused, knees locked. "If we want to make waves then we have to make a splash, it won't just come to us, Kyle," Madison said. She followed him as he turned away. "We could help ourselves."

He laughed lightly, bitterly, and she scowled.

"No, I don't mean to help the Lannister queen, she deserves no help." She took hold of Kyle's lapel, holding him back. "I want us to help us," she clarified. "If the northerners are fighting themselves, they can't stop us from chipping at their kingdoms from down, up. Only the Dornish know how to survive the desert, they couldn't stop us once we started. We could be the greatest rulers the house of Nymeros Martell ever saw."

Kyle ripped away from her, shaking his head.

She stomped her foot. "I'm not ambitious, I'm logical! Think it through, Kyle, we could be rulers of something grander than Dorne." She sighed. "Yes, Dorne is grand, but we could push back the frontiers, take down to the Three Towers, up to Ashford, reach the Rainwood and take Shipbreaker. We have enough men, and Westeros would be taken by surprise, they won't expect an uprising from you. Us."

"Seven hells, Kyle, we won't lose men, not that many!" she protested. "No one will be at the frontiers to police us back into our country, they'll be too busy! Yes, Kyle, us. This is my kingdom now, too."

He turned away again, a groan ripping out of his throat, but she tugged him back to stand before her. She passed her fingers through his hair, giving him a small, reassuring, smile. "I'm sorry, I'm just trying to help." He shook his head, rolling his eyes lightly, and her smile grew. "I guess ridiculous is a good way to describe me. But unless you take a step forward, you won't start walking. Think it through?"

He nodded once and she let him go when he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, a 'good night' in his fingers against the dip in her back. She took the left to her own rooms, finding her way in the falling darkness as the sun set outside. She'd sent Zoe to have dinner in the kitchens earlier, by now she was sleeping, so she slipped her gown off herself to fall down her legs, pulling a nightdress on when her arms broke out in goosebumps from the chilly wind outside.

But she couldn't fall asleep, and she tossed and turned for close to an hour before sitting up in bed, her knee shifting endlessly at the thought of the wedding the next evening. She suddenly felt horrible for practically yelling at Kyle, for driving him away from dinner, and she slipped out of bed and into the torch lit hallways, bent for his room.

If she could help it, she wouldn't be Nora.

The guards she passed bowed to her, though their eyes were shifty and she couldn't help but think someone had been there moments before her, though the castle was big and its people numerous.

The door to Kyle's room was open by inches and she paused, wondering if Zoe truly had gone to bed, but her perfume didn't permeate the air and she breathed out.

But her breath caught in her chest, swirling in her lungs and burning her throat when she heard a voice she'd never heard, and somehow she knew it had to be Kyle's just from the way he spoke, and she pressed her ear to the door to narrow in on tenor notes.

"M-mama, n-not tonight!"

And Alicia responded, "If I can only have you one last night, let me."


	7. My Boy Builds Coffins

**Headcanoned with an beta-ed by graceonce**

 **Rated M for mentions of rape, mentions of child sexual abuse, war, death, gore, mutilation, and language.**

"You two are showing nicely."

The Tattlers turned their dark gazes to their master, the young man ( _Man-boy, sister?_ ) looking them over with a ravenous tint to his blue eyes.

"How do you feel?" he asked softly, almost caringly. He stepped closer to press the palm of his hands to their protruding belly, the digits of his fingers warm through their light shift. He'd had a servant make clothes before they'd left Qarth, clothes that would fit them as the months passed by and as the child that was inside them grew and grew and grew.

He'd ignored his mother's begging and his father's ghost's warnings and set sail for Astapor at daybreak after leaving Maggie Esmeralda's tent with the sun, light that she could not follow in. There he had bought the Unsullied and a galleon flying the colors of Qarth and his family, taken the staff that commanded the eunuch warriors bred to kill, and from there he'd set for King's Landing with his freaks.

He, after all, needed entertainment.

With his fleet of a considerable number following his flagship, each filled to the brim with Unsullied and his commanding officers, they had passed Sothoryos as soon as they had left the Jade Sea, the forests off their prow loud with bird cries, fog rising from the vined treetops. The freaks had stayed far away, darting gazes to the safe horizon to the west, but Dandy had climbed up the rigging to take the closest look he could.

It was the last piece of earth they saw on that side of the ship on the Summer Sea, Essos to the right and open waters now ending somewhere between the ends of the universes to their left. But Essos became islands, Slaver's Bay, and then it gave way to open waters and a craggle of rock hard to see even in the telescope, most likely Volantis.

Dandy took another step forward, wrapping his arms around their waist when they turned to face the water, hair tied back in tight ponytails against the rising winds. He pressed a kiss to Bette's cheek when she glanced back at him. "We're two weeks from Blackwater Bay, three from the iron throne, though I doubt it will take long to find and kill the Lannister queen." He splayed his fingers against their stomach again. "And in a month you'll have my child and we will have a true descendant to our new home."

Dot nodded softly, and Bette's hand met Dandy's when he giggled lightly, excitedly.

"He's kicking so strong, he's going to be just like his father, a champion of truth and justice and light. A god among men."

"What if he's-" Dot bit back a grimace. "What if he's not like you?"

"But like us?" Bette added.

"He won't be, not with my blood running through his blue veins. A god among men, my wives, a god among men." He kissed them both on the backs of their necks before stepping away, leaving them against the railing.

He passed Jimmy on his way to the captain's cabin, the boy pausing long enough to bow, mutilated hands hidden behind his back.

Though he wasn't the captain and though he knew next to nothing about sailing past what he'd learned the last months on board (a few knots, here and there), he'd taken the largest room on the galleon for himself and the Tattlers and Maggie when he needed her counsel. And she waited for him now, crystal ball catching the light filtering through the ship's tainted glass windows.

He entered and closed the door behind him with a flourish, throwing his cape onto the back of his chair before sitting down in it, raising his eyebrows as he smiled at Maggie. She smiled back briefly, tugging at the long sleeves around her wrists, and he motioned to her.

"Come on, let's get on with it."

"You have to close your eyes, I tell you every time." She bit the inside of her cheek. "Sir," she added.

He sighed and did as was told after grimacing, and she pressed her fingers to the glass in front of her, letting out a slow breath. Her hazel eyes stayed open and she gazed the man over.

Here on board she had no resources for her usual tricks, no traders or slaves or innkeepers to ask questions to or bribe for ideas or answers to questions asked, but she was nothing if not resourceful, and so she'd adapted as best as she could. She glanced out one of the cleaner windows, narrowing her eyes at the sunlight and the dust floating through it.

Dandy sighed. "And, Esmeralda?"

She hummed lightly and closed her own eyes, scared he would open his and see her gazing into the distance, and she cleared her throat. "I see rocks to our bow."

"Rocks?" he echoed. He shifted in his seat almost excitedly. "Yesterday all you saw was sea. All you've seen the last months is sea."

"And now I see rocks," she replied softly. "Earth will be seen by the morning, past the fogs the night brings. Your lookout will yell 'land' and we'll be a step closer to Westeros."

"My kingdoms," the man breathed.

She nodded softly. "Your kingdoms." She opened her eyes when he stood.

He stretched lightly. "I'll be happy to step foot on land. You, seer?"

She shrugged lightly. "I'm content with whatever makes my master happy." She thought of the twins, the child. "Masters."

"Masters," he repeated thoughtfully. "Do you have any idea of how to take care of children? I haven't the slightest clue. I'm going to need someone who can." He narrowed his eyes. "I should have brought Ethel along after all, she's dealt with a child. Or I could have asked Elsa, she took care of enough freaks who couldn't eat or shit by themselves. Remind me to have them sailed over when I sit on the throne."

"Wouldn't you want contact with your child?"

"If I remember, babies don't speak, what would I have to tell him? No, I'll wait until he can sit up by himself, then he'll learn to love me. Remind me, Esmeralda."

"I will, sir."

He threw her a golden coin, something she hadn't expected but caught nonetheless, hazel eyes wide, and she watched him walk away, a spring in his step. He slammed the door behind him.

She took a moment before she stood, knees aching even though she wasn't tall enough to have to bend over, her head far from threatening to hit the top of the cabin, and she went to the window to open it. Salt air hit her sinuses and she took it in, letting out a sigh when a gull cried overhead, flying down low enough that she could see it. She'd caught its shadow minutes before and she was glad she'd looked out through the grimy glass while Dandy meditated.

The girl crossed to the map of the known world at the back of the cabin and traced her fingers along the underneath of it. From where she was, she could smell the sweet perfume of lovers and poison coming through the window, and she took in a small breath as she rested the palm of her hand against the lowest of the free cities.

"Lys."

OOOoooOOO

Cordelia's entire side was damp with mud, her waist and her good cheek, and she dug her damaged side into Misty's back, tightening her grip on the girl's waist as she awoke, the horse's walk underneath them having lulled her to sleep when it'd only been dawn, the sun high in the sky now. The wild blonde glanced behind her shoulder at the Tyrell girl, letting go of the reins momentarily to intertwine her fingers with the ones against her navel.

She'd slipped when they'd ran, torn out of a warm sleep by the hurried Mudfish speaking incoherently about a plot and murder and she'd wanted to ask, but Misty had left no time for words. She'd grabbed what she'd could and thrown them into a knapsack, taking Cordelia's hand in hers and dragging her to her white horse, Misty tripping first in the rain and the older blonde falling after her, hair in front of her good eye.

The reality of them running away was hitting her hard now as she recognized Harrenhal's ruins, the Isle of Faces preceding it, the Kingswood far behind them. They'd left the main road hours ago from what it seemed, the beast beneath them waist high in tall grasses that itched at Cordelia's legs as they followed a tributary of the Blackwater Rush.

"I need to rest the horse," Misty whispered back to her. Cordelia moved to sit closer, chest flush to the girl's back. "I don't like the thought of stoppin' but it ran too long when we left the forest."

"There's a village on the other shore."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea. If I'd been alone I could have pass through, but you're noticeable."

"Noticeable?" Cordelia echoed softly.

"Your eye," the wild blonde said. "If anyone came askin' questions, it'd be too easy to remember ya were there."

"I'm sorry."

Misty twisted in her seat, frowning lightly, and she pressed a kiss to Cordelia's temple before turning back to the front, covering the woman's hand with hers.

They rode for another half hour, the animal becoming slower and slower to where Cordelia thought it would die of exhaustion beneath them, but Misty pushed it to the edge of the God's Eye lake, the waters still underneath a cloudy sky.

The wild blonde dropped to the ground first and held Cordelia's waist in between strong hands to help her down after her, the woman tittering on weak legs. Misty helped her to sit in the grasses, shorter here, and took the time to bring the beast to the water's edge a dozen feet away, leaving Cordelia to eat whatever breakfast she'd hurriedly grabbed before they'd left the camp.

"Do ya need to sleep?" Misty sat beside the woman, eyes on the ruins across the way, the towers broken and cracked and melted together into masses of black stone.

"I slept," Cordelia replied. "Do you?"

"I'll be good, don't worry 'bout me. I've stayed up longer before." The wild blonde looked down at her hands, shame running through her veins and in her bowed head. "Delia?"

The blue and black eyed girl glanced at her, pausing between bites into staling bread.

"I'm sorry about this, about grabbin' ya and draggin' ya across the country. I don't even know why ya followed me, ya don't even know me." Cordelia sighed and let her forehead fall to a strong shoulder, rubbing there as she mulled over her thoughts. "You're not the one trying to kill me."

"I could be puttin' us in bigger danger."

"Oh, that's a given," Cordelia laughed lightly. "And I do know you, in a way. And I know that I'd rather be running around on a dying horse with you than be left to my mother and Chad Baratheon." She looked up into worried blue-green eyes. "Where are you taking us, Misty?"

"Riverrun would be too obvious, wouldn't it? They'd think we'd ran there, so we'd run to the Neck instead to try and lose them, to house Reed. But then they'd think of that too, they'd go there first and catch us," Misty murmured. She trailed her hand through grass, pulling and tearing at blades. "They'll go to the Neck, so we'll go to Riverrun."

Cordelia smiled softly. "This is well thought out."

"I've been runnin' all my life, I know how it works now," the wild blonde replied. She turned her gaze away. "I guess you'll be seein' my home after all."

"You thought I wouldn't have? You'd invited me over for the summer," Cordelia said gently.

"I thought ya were entertainin' me, I thought I'd leave King's Landin' and I'd never see ya again, whatever you might have told me last night."

"I meant it," the older blonde whispered. "I meant it all."

"I'm really sorry, this is all my fault." Misty's head fell in between her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks and down her arms. "I shouldn't have gone to the tournament, I shouldn't have met ya."

"The Starks would still be coming down from the north and my mother would still despise me," Cordelia soothed. She pulled Misty's hands away to gaze at her red rimmed eyes, passing her thumb over a wet jaw.

"Ya'd have married Hank Baratheon and you'd be safe."

"You think?" the older woman laughed. "You think he cared even an ounce for me? I was a prize, Misty, a prize with a name and a dowry."

"I don't care about no name, I don't care about no money," Misty murmured. "And I care for ya too much. It's my downfall, isn't it?"

Cordelia grimaced lightly, her nails raking down the back of the Mudfish's neck, and she leaned in to kiss her, something sloppy that didn't last long but that stopped Misty's whimperings enough that the older blonde could speak to her.

"Whatever happens, I'm grateful to have met you, I'm grateful that you'd put yourself in such dangers to save me, you could have run without me and been so much farther by now but you stayed back for me. I know you care, and I care too." She pressed another kiss to Misty's jaw. "Once we're safe, we'll talk about this, whatever this is."

"When will we be safe? Fiona Lannister will chase us to the end of the world," Misty said softly, mouth hovering above Cordelia's. "Maybe I want ya now."

Cordelia breathed against her, unable to answer her but for a shrug of her shoulders. She took a moment, her eyes closed. "Let's get to Riverrun first, Misty, please. I can't fall for you now."

"Too late," Misty whispered back. She kissed her and Cordelia embraced her back, arm wrapping around her neck and pulling her until the girl had to push her back into the grass. She dropped her head to the woman's shoulder, holding her close by her waist. "I'll keep ya safe, Delia." She looked up into mismatched eyes, finding them tearing up.

"I know you will, Misty, I know you will," the woman replied.

They fell asleep under the afternoon sun, wind howling past and with Cordelia flitting in and out of dreams, Misty hidden in the crook of her neck. She played with the scarred skin she could find, tracing the patterns the fire had left there, the girl fidgeting but not waking from her exhausted state, no matter her words minutes before.

Cordelia cried, the thought of the last two weeks too much for her to stay calm, and she let the tears fall between Hank and her mother and the Mudfish in her arms. It was too much, too quick, and she knew she was being selfish asking for safety first, but perhaps Misty was being selfish asking for love instead.

For all the words and declarations of caring and being grateful, she did love her back, and it hurt to think that she was choosing this girl she barely knew over a woman that had given birth to her and would perhaps never take her back into her good graces, no matter how she came crawling back. But the wild blonde was genuine in her quick tempered affections and it was too late now for her to back out, her heart was echoing Misty's drumming noise.

Misty's head snapped up minutes later, breathing hard through her nose, her fingers tightening around Cordelia's sides as she gazed around furtively, whimpering. The older woman sat up after her, trying to shush her, but the blue-green eyed girl turned to watch her, pushing her hands away.

"Do ya hear that?"

"Misty, hear what?"

"War drums."

OOOoooOOO

Lord Chad Baratheon did his best to ignore the pleas and wails of the wretched beneath his horse as he rode through King's Landing's River Gate. The smell of the city had been downwind and unbearable for hours, but here he wanted to gag, the smell of fish sure to imprint in his clothes. Beside him, the queen's sellsword held a handkerchief to his nose and mouth, one hand holding his reins as they followed Fiona Lannister and the guards surrounding her, the men on foot pushing citizens out of the way and calling out for freedom of the ruler's passage.

Fiona Lannister had been awkwardly silent from Kingswood on, the disappearance of both the Mudfish and her daughter throwing her into a cold rage that neither man wanted to try and warm. She'd sent men after the pair but no word had been heard from them and Chad was beginning to worry for her tension levels. It was what had killed his own father in the end.

That and the knife through his ribs.

The stag grimaced as they crossed into Fishmonger's Square, the smell here more pungent than anything before, the sounds of metal being banged on loud from the Street of Steel meandering off on the side. They took the Hook to Aegon's High Hill, the Red Keep overhead blocking the sun, making him shiver beneath his antlered crown.

The City's Watch loomed overhead on the keep's ramparts, watching as the group passed through the gate and into the castle's courtyard. One of the Goldcloaks broke from the line of soldiers and stepped up to take Chad's horse's reins, and the young man dropped to the ground, groaning when his sleeping foot smacked onto the sanded way. He looked up and found the queen was already on her way inside, yelling for their mounts to be taken to the stables, and he and her lover followed after her quickly, knowing they would be locked out if they weren't in her shadow. They were led to the council chamber through the Great Hall, their steps echoing on the marble floors and around the columned room, swords clinking against their chainmail.

Fiona threw her riding gloves onto the table and fell into the chair at the head of it, motioning for them to do the same. She glanced sideways at one of the servants. "Anything from the rookery?"

"The rookery, your majesty?" the boy asked. He scrunched his nose as he gazed around, a little lost. "I, I don't know, ma'am."

"Go find out then," she barked. "Faster!"

He scrambled out of the room, bare feet slapping on the floor and out into the hallway.

"Don't be so hard on him, we've only just arrived," the Axeman sighed as he sat.

"I was arriving and now I'm here," she replied. "Letters should be waiting and the fires should be roaring."

"The chimney's cold," Chad muttered. He stood and reached for the bottle of wine placed at the far end of the table, raising his eyebrows as he asked the queen and her man silently if they wanted to join in. He slowly poured the red alcohol into three glasses as he spoke. "My men will arrive by the end of the week, will you have room to house them alongside yours and the City's Watch? I am not poor in forces."

"They'll stay near the Iron Gate," Fiona said. "Ah, finally."

The servant came running back in, halting steps away from the queen to bow quickly. His arms were full of letters and he placed them on the table quickly, shaking off a raven feather as he did. The Axeman picked it up to twirl it in his fingers, lightly amused with the boy.

"Leave us," the queen commanded. The boy bowed again, then to the Baratheon lord, and finally to the Axeman, before leaving and closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

"Lots happened while we were in forests galore," Chad mused, eyeing the pile. "Is that grey and blue I spy?"

"Not the Stark wolf," the queen's lover said. The stag shrugged lightly as Fiona began to read her mail.

"We'll have to put your men outside the gates after all, Lord Chad," she muttered. "There won't be room now."

Chad's eyebrow raised and he bristled lightly. "Why?"

"The Freys have joined the Boltons in their march south."

"Whatever for?"

"They seem to think that they'll receive better treatment and more land if we win." Fiona threw the letter back onto the table. "They've joined us in our plight."

The Axeman smiled. "So you're taking the Boltons on against the Starks after all. Not that you can ignore the northern devils. At least there's the Freys. More men can never hurt."

"I'll believe it when I see it. The twins agreeing with each other is-" Chad scoffed."Well, it'd be a miracle."

"The twins or the Twins?" the Axeman asked.

Chad held his glass out to him and they drank together. "You're popular with most of the northern families, at least. What's that?"

"It's word of the Eyrie from the lookouts." Fiona ripped the scroll open, scowling. "Knowing the Arryn bitch-" She paused as she read, and her fingers began to shake. She ripped the parchment apart, the pieces falling to the floor in tatters as the men watched, astounded. "She fights us. Dumb bitch is taking the opportunity to attack."

"They have ten thousand men at most, it's-"

"It's a liability!" Fiona snapped. Chad held out his hands, apologizing silently as he took a step back from the table. "They'll be a pain in my backside, as the Arryns have always been. I swear to the Seven that if they weren't hidden up in their towers, they'd be dead and thrown out their own sky cells."

"Once we eradicate them, we'll have all the time in the world to do that," the Axeman assured her soothingly.

The queen sneered. "You two do realize they'll arrive at King's Landing at roughly the same time? How do you plan on stopping them?"

"Easily," Chad said. "I stand at one gate with my men, you with yours at another, and the Starks and Arryns clash themselves against our shields. With the city at our back, we win." He drank again.

She narrowed her eyes, a dark smile overcoming her features as she placed her chin in her hands sweetly. "And the Targaryens? The Greyjoys? They're maneuvering at Dragonstone."

"Shit," the Baratheon lord said, looking to the ceiling. "I'd forgotten them."

The Axeman reached for the pitcher and filled his glass to the brim. "I'll take care of them."

"You think highly of yourself," Fiona scoffed. "What army will you run?"

"I'll think of something. The city watch, some sellswords. It'll be fine, darling."

Her sneer grew and she stood, ignoring the rest of the letters at her place, and walked away with her glass of wine. "Fetch me if you hear of my daughter." Chad turned to the Axeman, a small smile on his face as the man across from him shrugged.

The younger man reached for the last parchment. "She didn't quite finish her mail," he hummed. "Think she would mind?"

"Do you value your hands?"

"It's fine." Chad shook his head as he opened the letter. "If anybody's to be dismembered for stealing, it'll be the Tully girl first. I'll have time to escape."

OOOoooOOO

"Don't bite," Lana warned, glancing sideways at the blonde. Mary's blue eyes flashed as she grinned and brought her mouth to the brunette's elbow again, nipping lightly. The northern queen shifted against her, knocking her lightly in the teeth, trying to shake her off, and the girl scowled and burrowed into Lana's side, arm thrown over the woman's stomach.

The blonde had changed for the better, had come to the north as a girl unsure of herself, afraid of the light, and now as they descended south Lana couldn't help the way her heart swelled with pride at the sudden courage and self-worth the girl had for herself. She'd begun to fight back, little shows of strength that had the queen laughing in how, even though the fire burned in blue eyes, sweet the girl looked. She figured she'd marked her in the best of ways. She'd met the northern lord and in so retained her innocence, but her soul was ablaze.

Set free.

The brunette took a moment to look her over, wrist still moving over paper as she wrote. Though the girl was as naked as her nameday and as naked as her in their shared camp tent, she'd worn her fox furs to bed and over her shoulders. Lana hadn't even tried telling her not to, she'd been so ecstatic about shooting the animal down herself that the lord of Winterfell couldn't help but amuse her and let her wear them everywhere.

"You always work."

Lana laughed incredulously. "That's the biggest lie you've ever told, I hardly work because I'm always with you."

"Always isn't enough," Mary sighed. She pressed her face into the wolf furs covering them and let her fingers trail on Lana's burning skin. "Please?"

"We're at war, Mary, I have to get these letters signed to be able to send them." The brunette motioned down to the stack of parchments in her lap. "You can draft them all you want, but you can't forge my signature."

"I could try," Mary taunted. "And then it'd go faster. Why do you insist on reading everything before signing?"

"Who knows what the hell you wrote."

The blonde groaned and scowled when Lana pushed her wandering hand away. After a few seconds of impatience, she leaned up again and nibbled on an errant wrist, blue eyes fixed on black ones.

"I said _don't bite_."

Mary giggled against her skin. "I know you like it."

Lana sighed through her nose at her, but couldn't dispute the girl's comment. She moved her knee slightly, placing it against Mary's side, and pushed her as gently as she could so that she could finish, but the blonde latched onto her thigh. Her free hand ran to Lana's waist and pulled her closer.

Lana's hand pushed a stray lock of hair back behind Mary's ear, her thumb tracing circles into her jaw as her feather quill scribbled furiously.

"Five minutes, can you give me that?"

"Three."

"Mary."

"Fine, but make them quick."

The brunette did as best as she could, ink dribbling over the papers as Mary continued nipping at her side, having found her way to her ribs. As much as it annoyed her, she couldn't bring herself to push the girl off.

She finally threw her parchments down to the bottom of the bed after having blown air on the drying ink, and she yelped lightly as Mary pushed her back into pillows to straddle her and bite at the expanse of skin over her neck. Lana's black eyes closed as the blonde sucked on her pulse point, and her hands found their way onto stable hips.

"You're such an animal."

Mary grinned against her skin. "I have the best teacher." She went to kiss her lord, tongue darting out, but Lana pushed her back when someone called from outside, voice strong. She enveloped Mary in her arms and held her to the side, looking towards the tent's opening when a guard entered, eyes cast downward.

"Yes?"

"We've found two women moving inside the camp, my Lord."

"Whores," the woman replied carelessly.

"One's in armor."

"Shit," Lana sighed. She passed a hand over her forehead. "I'll be out in a minute, hold them inside the council room." The guard nodded and left, closing the flaps behind him and fastening them. She went to move but the blonde at her side held her back.

"Lana!"

"I'm sorry, I have to take care of this," the brunette murmured. She pressed a kiss to Mary's cheek, lingering there for a moment. "I'll be back soon, just go to sleep." The girl grasped for her arm, tugging her back down to kiss her again, whimpering, and Lana climbed back over her despite herself. She pulled away with a groan and Mary sat up after her.

"Can I come?"

"Can you keep your hands to yourself?"

Mary shrugged and Lana nodded back at her, smiling when the nude blonde stood and went over to her, reaching for the dress she'd left on the chair.

They didn't take long to dress and would have taken even less time if Lana hadn't held Mary to her, hands traveling down her back.

The northern queen's scowl was hard when they walked outside and into the cold night, the moon high in the sky, and Mary followed close behind, arms crossed over her chest to testament her now sour mood, eyes on Lana.

The council room held the table Lana ran her operations from, a map drawn in wood burns over a plank of dark oak and tokens in shapes of animals and sigils placed over it, chairs pushed in beneath it and the candles burning low. She'd left mere hours before and she hadn't been planning to be back before the sun was up.

Ser Kit was there already, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he spoke with the Karstark son, the father too old to fight and left at home, and he glanced at Lana, acknowledging her presence and Mary's. He had understood that the blonde should come, the lord of Winterfell too attached and bound to worry if she'd left the girl by her relative self, but he didn't quite understand why she sat in on the meetings. It occurred to him that she wasn't some fancy of Lana's, that she was being taught and that if the queen could, she'd let Mary rule beside her.

Not that anything could stop Lana Stark when she had an idea.

"The line guards almost let them through," he called. "They thought it was you, with the armor."

"And what made them pause?"

"The blonde curls."

They shared a smile and she came to stand at the edge of the table, Mary hovering over her shoulder, eyes narrowed on the map.

"Let them in, would you?"

Kit nodded and left the tent, coming back seconds later with two blondes surrounded by four guards, their arms tied behind them, the bottom of their clothes stained horribly with mud and torn in places. The two looked up, one with anger in her blue-green gaze and the other meek, something that reminded the brunette of Mary when they'd first met

Lana's eyebrows raised. "Lady Cordelia."

The girl with one dead eye winced lightly, turning her head. "Lord Stark."

"And here I'd thought I'd seen everything, but the princess of Westeros as a spy? Surely your mother wouldn't stoop this low."

The wild blonde beside Cordelia Tyrell glanced sideways at her companion. "You know her?"

"Is that envy or jealousy in your voice?" Lana asked. Next to her, Mary bristled openly. "I met her at her mother's second wedding. Or was it her third?" she mused, more for her blonde lover than herself.

"Second," Cordelia replied softly.

Lana nodded at the girl, and bowed lightly to the wild blonde. "Lord Lana Stark of Winterfell, queen and warden in the north."

"Misty Tully of Riverrun."

"The Mudfish?" the brunette wondered. "In front of me? I wasn't told you'd left the Neck."

"The Neck wasn't told I left the Neck," Misty admitted.

Lana watched her for a moment before turning back to Cordelia, the blonde shifting her weight. "Perhaps the chains can go?" She turned to Kit and he unfastened their wrists from their bonds. Exhausted, Cordelia fell into the chair the northern queen motioned to, but the wild blonde stayed standing. "What were you doing running around my camp?"

"We're-" Misty took a moment to look to Cordelia, but the blue and black eyed girl wouldn't meet her gaze. "We're trying to get to Moat Cailin."

"That's a little far from both your homes. What's in Moat Cailin?"

"Why are you so far south?" Misty asked back.

"You're sitting in the middle of fifteen thousand northern men, do you think your cheekiness will get you anywhere? Sit down."

The wild blonde did as she was told and glanced down at her feet, rubbing the heel of one boot against her other foot, scratching at the mud there. She only looked up when her initial blush had passed, the lord of Winterfell gazing her over with black eyes.

"We're in the south because we're at war, Lady Misty, though I'm sure you two are far from not knowing this." She looked to Cordelia. "Your mother wouldn't tell you anything? Wouldn't let you overhear?" The Tyrell girl glanced at Misty, the two unable to respond, and it was enough answer for Lana. "This wasn't meant to be more than justice, Lady Misty," she said softly. "Whatever the others may say. This was only me catching a serf that's broken his oath to my house, but I wasn't able to catch him and now he's two days ahead of us, three soon." She fingered the playing pieces, her thumb running over a wolf's ear.

"I don't consider you killing your husband justice," Cordelia murmured. "Perhaps you shouldn't have married him."

"You know nothing," Mary spit out.

"Peace, Mary."

Misty shook her head, reaching for her companion's hand. "We just need a way across, please, to the Neck. Back to the Neck."

"I can't do that for you," Lana said. "My army extends too far back and the Freys are running our tail ends as they too run to the capital for the queen's approval and a chance at my death, I have to send men there to keep our middle from being undone. You may go but if I remember well, you don't especially like the Freys, Lady Tully. No, I can't help you across the Twins, either of them. If you want to go, I won't stop you, but I can't give up men for your running away."

"We're not running away."

"Aren't you?" The brunette turned and reached for a slip of parchment, holding it up to the two. "They've put a bounty on your head, Tully, for the murder of Hank Baratheon and the kidnapping of Cordelia Tyrell. Are you a murderer and a kidnapper?"

"He fell and she came of her own free will."

"Then I'm not married to Oliver Bolton."

Lana had Ser Kit find the two blondes room to stay in until they took off in the morning again, herself leaving for her own tent with Mary in tow, hand reaching for the girl's in the darkness. From their place in the camp, Cordelia watched them disappear.

She turned to Misty and their tent flaps closed behind her. "We'll never get to Moat Cailin. Not with the Freys up in arms." She passed a hand through her hair as the Mudfish sat on a cot. "I have a feeling Lana Stark merely pushed through the bridge. She doesn't look like someone who would pay any toll to walk anywhere."

The wild blonde glanced at her, brow furrowed. "I know."

"So what are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Misty said. She rubbed her hands over her face, groaning lightly. "Why don't ya just run back to King's Landing with my head over your shoulder? It'd be easier for the both of us."

Cordelia growled deep in her throat but said nothing, sitting down beside the girl.

The Mudfish placed her chin in the palm of her hand and tilted her head to look at her. "I can't run away anymore, Delia."

"Misty-"

"No, no, Cordelia. I can't. I should be facin' my fears, like Stark. I want to be brave for ya, I want ya to be able to look at me like that girl looks at Lana."

"It's easier to do that if we're both alive." The woman took Misty's hand in hers. "We don't have to do anything, Misty. We don't have to be them, just us. And if we don't stay, we don't stay. Would you think I'd hold it against you? Your intelligence over your need to please your demons?"

"I'd hold it against myself," Misty murmured. "Your mother's wanted my family's demise for years, as anybody has. Your step-father and the Twins and every little shit house in the Riverlands."

"I'm not going to change your mind, am I?" Cordelia asked softly. "How long have you known you'd do this?"

"Delia-"

"Don't lie to me, Misty Tully. How long? How long has it been since you made up your mind?"

Misty looked away. "Since we left the Kingswood."

"The men of Riverrun?"

"On their way here." The girl laughed lightly. "Ravens fly fast." She shook her head. "I can't do this anymore. I stand and fight. I stand and fight and I'll be at Lana Stark's back."

Cordelia sighed. "Misty."

"When my men arrive, I'll have a scout party take you back to Riverrun, so that you can be safe. I'm not a complete idiot, I won't put your life in more danger than it needs to be now."

"You are an idiot," the older blonde snapped. "Because I'm not leaving your side. Fiona Lannister is your demon as much as she is mine. I'm done living in her shadow."

"The light might kill you," Misty said softly.

"Then so be it."

OOOoooOOO

"You said you'd take care of it, you said you'd investigate what'd happened and that we'd hang whoever did this!"

Tate Targaryen did a half turn on himself, his tongue tight against the insides of his teeth as he looked over his wife Violet with his black eyes. "I know," he said. His salt wife.

"And yet!" she laughed bitterly. "My mother is sitting in her room going _crazy_ with worry, she can't leave her bed without thinking she'll be killed or assaulted again and my father won't do anything for it. And now you too? You promised me-"

"I can't just make a rapist out of thin air, Violet!" he yelled. He passed his fingers through his blond curls, breathing heavily. "I can't just find someone and make him up until your mother thinks she recognizes him!"

"I haven't asked anything of you, Tate, but for this," Violet said. She rounded their bed to stand before him. "Why can't you do what you said you'd do? It's been a month-"

"How do I even know she told the truth, Violet? She says one of my men, a man of Dragonstone, went and did this to her? Why should I believe someone would do that? How did he get in?" he asked. "You want to know what I think?" He stood flush to her. "I don't think she was assaulted at all."

"How dare you."

He held his hands out. "She's senile, obviously! She hasn't gotten fresh air since she got here-"

"She was raped, Tate! How do you expect her to function when what she was was ripped out of her?"

Her husband placed his hands around her neck, thumbs rubbing at her jaw, and he placed his forehead against hers, looking into a furious hazel gray gaze. He spoke softly. "She didn't want us married, that's all. She made this up and hoped we'd cancel the wedding, but now she's caught in her own lie and she has to keep it going."

She ripped away from him. " _Then what did I see, Tate!_ "

"What you wanted to see!"

"Lord Tate-"

The two turned, the blond boy whirling around to stare the guard down. "What?" he yelled. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

The man bowed low. "Lady Constance and Lord Ben require you in the hall." He was motioned away and out of the bedroom by the young dragon lord with an angry flick of his wrist.

Tate turned to Violet as he reached for his cape, and she gazed him over pleadingly, fingers reaching for him. "You believed me before, Tate, what happened?"

He gritted his teeth at her, an inhuman noise ripped out of his throat, and she took a step back, the creature in his eyes something she'd seen before in the dark night, above her mother. "We'll talk of this when I come back. And when I come back, she's not staying for much longer. I rule, you rule. Not our ascendants."

He tightened his cloak around his shoulders and left their room, slamming the door shut behind himself before marching down the hallway, fingers raking through his curls. He willed his chest to stop heaving as he entered through dragon's teeth, and he sported a smile when he reached his mother and Violet's father, though Ben was far from smiling back.

The hall was empty but its fire lit even if they were alone, the three of them. Breakfast hadn't been cleared from the tables and the boy reached for a piece of bread, ignoring the cheese resting at the tip of a dagger set next to it. Constance slapped it out of his hand.

"Sit, Tate."

He did as he was told, scratching at his forearm idly as he waited and looked them over.

"Fiona Lannister is in King's Landing," Ben said. He held his cape in his fist, armor glinting in candlelight. "As is the Baratheon head of family."

"And?"

"And this is much more complicated than previously thought," Constance announced. "The Stark's and Bolton's personal war will spill over to the capital very soon, and the Eyrie marches down from the Mountains of the Moon."

"And?" Tate repeated.

Ben blew air out of his nose, the boy turning to look at him, fingers intertwined. "And we're going to hit them now, when she's too busy with the rest of these bastards, during the brawl. We have our men ready, we'll leave at dawn."

"Our forces," Constance added, "Will go on foot, through the coast and Duskendale, down to Rosby before King's Landing. Lord Ben will take the ships and the ironborn through to Blackwater Bay, hit them from the river in." She shifted her weight. "As reigning Dragon Lord, you'll lead the Targaryen army."

Tate sat up, grin wide. "An honor, mother."

Ben turned to his man-at-arm, the blond hadn't noticed Ser Travis had been standing there. "We have a lot of preparations to do, go to Violet and tell her I'm stealing her husband for the night. And until we come home victorious."

The man nodded and bowed to them before exiting the empty hall, steps echoing on the black tiles, but not before hearing Constance's "Don't get yourself imprisoned, Tate, or slit your throat if you do."

He shook his head as he made his way through the creature adorned keep, up to the tower where the boy and the girl's bedroom was. He found her sitting at her vanity, eyes on her reflection in the mirror, a hand passing through the tangles in her hair. He tried to ignore the bruise near her collarbone, the finger shapes it took.

"My Lady Violet, movements for King's Landing have begun. At dawn your father and husband will leave for King's Landing."

"And you?" she asked softly.

"I stay at your side."

"Right," Violet murmured. "You once promised my father to keep me alive, to protect me."

He shifted his weight. "Yes, my lady."

"Once you said you would kill for me."

Travis took a moment to answer, throat dry. "I did, my lady."

She turned to face him, hands in her lap. "I beg you, go to King's Landing with my father. And there, kill Tate. Kill him until he is anything but recognizable." She turned back to the mirror, gaze raking over herself and her flushed cheeks, red with shame and anger. "He was so disarmingly beautiful, but he has the sickness too. Kill him, Travis."

The man bowed.

OOOoooOOO

Billie Dean the Seer wondered, as she stood with her head tilted back, if the black liquid stains on the Bloody Gate belonged to the dead men who had marched afore her, steps measured and echoing down the valley. Wondered if they'd coated the stone walls with their blood before, whenever they'd been alive, some longer ago than others.

Though they made noise as they walked, the metal of their armor and weapons clanging and clinking together in a brouhaha so loud she'd had a headache their first hours, they made no other noise. They were silent. So silent shivers ran down her back with the howling winds. They said no words, made no noise. She hadn't expected this, not with the inhuman screams they'd let out in the Eyrie's hall, moon door beneath them and Ser Patrick with, at any point, the choice to open it and scatter them through the Vale.

They'd walked down from the Eyrie and through the mountains, Lady Hayden at the head of the procession on a horse silver like the moon, her cloak made of chainmail that echoed the sun when it managed to shine through the low clouds. She'd had a crown made for the occasion, something that she would surely wear on the iron throne with a certain glee. Falcon wings made of shiny metal atop a bandlet of gold, framing the sides of her face and arching for the sky. It suited her well.

If behind her was the army of the dead nestled between the men of the Vale and the clansmen, marching on, next to her was Marie atop a black horse as dark as her skin, and Ser Patrick on his gray stallion. Billie herself had fallen to the ground and given the reins of her common brown to a soldier. Hayden had called for the gate to be opened, voice carried in the wind, and now she watched as the blonde pressed the palm of her hand to the cool stones of the structure, gates disguised as a castle that restricted access in and out of the Vale.

The gate, a mesh of spike metal, stayed rusted shut, but a door off to the side opened and an armored man walked out, hands around a broad sword and with his blazon a yellow sun, a crescent moon, and a silver star, blue on white, on his chest.

He lifted his chin. "Who goes there."

Hayden's horse shifted, walking in place as she looked him over. "I do, Ser Carl Egen, Lady Hayden Arryn of the Vale, your queen of the Mountains of the Moon."

He bowed low. "You honor me with your presence, my Lady Arryn."

"And you do your capacities exceedingly well, Ser Carl, I commend you," the brunette said.

" _By Day or Night_ shall I do the duty you appointed me to, my lady."

"Knight of the Gate, we wish to pass."

"You and your men?" he asked, gazing over the army extending back miles, the back still walking to catch up to where they'd paused.

"The Bloody Gate must open for the night," she replied.

"If it must be."

The blonde looked away, dark gaze back on the fingers against the blood coated mountain. Behind her the metal gate was raised by the men inside the keep and by the knight who had disappeared back inside, struggling with its own weight, and the army began to move again, Hayden leading them through with a flourish of her hand. The ground shook beneath them.

"Can you feel the dead in the rock?" Marie asked softly. Billie turned. The woman had appeared at her side, watching her from above and with her mount snorting cold air.

"I can hear them. Can you?"

"I can see them."

Billie's gaze slid to the ground. "You are brave for following your men to King's Landing."

"I am not just their chief, but their clansmen as well. It is not only expected but my choice," Marie said. "You are brave for staying at the Eyrie."

"You placate me."

"We all have our strengths. From the safety of your home you would still know of the tides of change. Perhaps that is braver, to know of the dying souls but to not be able to help?"

Billie bristled but she said nothing, and Marie smirked as she tightened her cloak around her shoulders.

"I do hope the winds blow in your favor, Billie Dean, and that the smell of tarnished blood doesn't keep you from sleeping."

"May they whisper at your back and keep you alive, Marie, daughter of Legba," the blonde replied.

"I will come home to claim my kingdom."

Billie gritted her teeth, black eyes flashing against Marie's occasional reds. "It shall be waiting."

The woman spurred her horse on and she passed through the gate with the passing dead men and her clansmen at her back and on foot, calling out their steps in grunts. Billie met Hayden's gaze when the brunette turned her horse on itself, and the Arryn nodded once before going herself through the Bloody Gate, leaving the blonde to go back to the Eyrie by herself, a party of five to escort her there.

The Knight of the Gate, from atop his twin watchtowers, had opened the narrow mountain pass to his lady and her men, and Billie watched them amble away.

Silent.

OOOoooOOO

The dirty blonde shifted in her seat, the crown atop her head pleasantly heavy, and she tightened her hold on her husband's hand, their fingers intertwined in the negative space between their thrones, a sun at her back and a spear at his.

Newly married and newly crowned, the princess of Dorne, Madison Nymeros Martell, watched her subjects come one by one and bow to her and Kyle, giving their allegiance, before taking a space at the edges of the room. The crowd slowly grew larger as the morning went on, beginning with the lesser houses and its people and ending with the uncles and aunts and cousins to the crown.

The princess dowager came last. Stripped of her functions but not her titles, Alicia had given her seat and crown and son to Madison, and now she knelt before them as she gave her life, too.

The wedding the night before had been a sordid affair for the couple, he'd known that she'd known of his mother's ill willed escapades from the way she'd looked him over as they stood beneath the sun decorated stained glass and said their vows (or, nodded to their vows, in his case). She hadn't brought the molestation up and he hadn't wanted to hear of them anyway, his gaze on the marble floor beneath them as they waltzed in hues of orange and yellow, her gown a deep burgundy, and the flowers from the gardens. Now the girl knew why Alicia liked the place and all the children inhabiting it.

He'd tried hard not to step on her feet while dancing that night, and when they'd been led to their room by the drunk guests, all hollering louder than the rest, she'd stayed far from him after closing the door. He'd been more than happy to take the couch and leave her the bed, and she hadn't been able act like she'd ignored his whimperings as the sun rose.

Madison blinked almost lazily as she watched Alicia kneel slowly before them, wincing when her knee landed on the floor, but she looked up with a smile tugging at her lips anyway as she addressed both them and the congregation. "Prince Kyle, Princess Madison, I vow my allegiance to you until the days where I can breathe no more. Until then I am yours, as is Dorne and her people, as is the sun we stand under."

"We take your allegiance, Princess Alicia," Madison replied, bowing her head lightly. She didn't want her crown to slide off her hair. Beside her, Kyle nodded shortly. "And we thank you for it."

Alicia's smile grew. "What would you have your first order as royalty of Dorne be, your highness?"

The dirty blonde shared a quick look with Kyle before sitting up in her throne. "Westeros."

A light murmur went through the hall, giggles accompanied with small conversation breaking out in pockets as the nobles waited for her to continue.

"We wish to take her." Madison stood, pushing the folds of her dress behind her. "The continent is at war with itself, this is the opportunity to run up the Prince's Pass and the Marshes and over the Torentine and retake the territories we have lost over the years to the king on the iron throne."

"We?" a voice sounded.

She ignored it. "Tomorrow we march from Sunspear with the men who are able to fight for their kingdom and their sovereigns. Word will be sent to Hellholt and to Sandstone so that they may be ready for our arrival." She took a step down from the dais. "The Lannister queen has removed all her forces from our borders so that she may save her own skin at King's Landing. We will be free to move into the Stormlands and the Reach."

The hall had fallen awkwardly silent, its people shifting on the balls of their feet as the orders sunk in, as they realized Madison, and in extent, Kyle, were far from joking.

Alicia began to stand. "Anything else?"

Madison smiled and stepped down to be level with her. "In fact, yes." She glanced at Zoe, Queenie, and Nan. "Too relaxed is your court, how many times have I thought it? Said it? In Castamere, criminals are taken care of. Thieves' hands are cut off and rapists are sent to the Wall to live in blistering cold until their cocks fall off. There's a lack of discipline here, criminals aren't taken care of when they should be. Something needs to be done, something like-"

"A hanging."

The room's eyes turned to Kyle, the boy with his chin in his hand and the words having left his lips. He lifted his gaze from the floor, shrugging lightly.

"A hanging would fix that," Madison said softly. "Yes."

"Hang who?" Alicia asked. "Who has not, here in Dorne, been dealt with?"

Madison's hazel eyes turned onto her. "You." she whispered. "In Castamere, we don't take child molesters lightly. I'd hoped when I'd come that you would understand what it means to have a Westerosi in your house, now maybe you will?"

"How dare-!" The guards stepped forward, spears tipped down as they encircled the former princess dowager. "Do you not have justice in Westeros?" Alicia demanded.

"Yes. And your crown prince finds you guilty."

OOOoooOOO

"I ain't strong enough to fight anyone by myself, but I can join ya. I want to join ya. I want to prove that I'm not who my parents were, lords and ladies run out of their own homes and made to live off another house's backs until they died. I want to prove that I won't be givin' up who I am, just as ya do now. And ya don't have to worry about me pullin' no move, I don't want no throne." Misty paused, looking away. "I just wanna be left alone."

Lana watched her, black eyes raking over the blonde as she shifted her weight from one hip to the other, the war table between them. "You would swear to me."

"I would. Me and the men of Riverrun, who are on their way here now."

The lord of Winterfell's eyebrows raised. "And Cordelia Tyrell?"

Misty wouldn't meet her eyes. "She supports me in this."

"She's stubborn?" Lana asked.

"Ya wouldn't imagine."

"I think I can," the brunette replied. She spared a look to Ser Kit who'd begun to laugh in the corner of the room. He turned away. "I appreciate the bravery, Lady Misty, but-"

"It ain't no bravery, it's my pride. Let me have this one thin', please."

"And if you die?"

"Then I'll die with my pride intact." Misty chewed at the inside of her cheek. "Or what's left of it."

Lana watched her for a moment, black eyes narrowed, before glancing back at Kit. "Did we bring all the sigils?"

"I brought it with me," he replied. He reached into his cloak and brandished a wooden token, painted black and in the shape of a trout. "I thought she might veer." Misty watched in disbelief as Lana smiled and took the fish to place it on the map, by the wolves and behind the flayed man.

"Ya knew?" she asked softly.

Kit smiled.

"Rest with your mind easy, Misty," Lana said. "You have a place in my army." She looked up, fingers leaving the map. "I've heard of your skills, I wish I could have seen them first hand before now, like Hank Baratheon did. A horse will be given to you, along with a battalion."

"Thank ya, my Lord Stark."

"Keep Tyrell on a short leash, I don't need another blonde running around camp with her head held high."

Misty bowed. "My Lord."

Kit held the tent opened for her as she left, nodding to her as she passed, chainmail clinking.

"How many men from Riverrun, do you reckon?" Lana asked. The man shrugged lightly, hands resting on his hips. She sighed lightly when he did, his hands slipping to the knots at the base of his back. "We move tomorrow for Sow's Horn. Bolton's at Brindlewood."

"Yes, my lord."

Lana rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "We need to catch up to him."

"We do."

"Go to bed, Ser Kit, I'll do the same. The gods know we need it."

He bowed to her before holding the tent flap open for her, and the queen in the north took the lead, giving him a soft 'good night' before disappearing through the camp, headed for her own quarters.

Mary, even though it was way past midnight, had stayed up waiting for her lover, sitting up in their bed and with a book in between her hands. Something about the families of Westeros. Lana pressed a kiss to her cheek before moving to remove her cloak and her chestplate, black eyes on the girl.

"You look angry," she said.

"I am."

The brunette's lips pursed as she placed Bone Shatter around one of the bed's post to hang in its scabbard. She reached for the bottom of her shirt. "Why?"

Mary snapped the book onto the sheets, looking up as she sighed, exasperated. "He's too far now, Lana. He's at King's Landing's doors. If you enter the city after him, we're lost. You tried to catch him, you didn't." She raised her book again, grimacing. "Give up."

"You didn't have any issues getting on that horse and following me down the Kingsroad."

"I thought we'd have caught him by now!" Mary snapped. She sat up on her knees and leaned in to face Lana, tugging her down to her by her collar. "Why are you going after him? He can't do anything to you from the capital while you stay in Winterfell. Go back now and he'll have to come home one day, you can get him then, absolve northern justice on his soul."

"And move the entire column back over the Green Fork? Do you realize what you're asking of me?"

"Do you realize what you're asking of _me_!" the blonde echoed. She made Lana face her. "You could die, Lana. There's nothing for you in King's Landing but cold bones and a lost cause."

"Did you know Spivey is with them? That he's running alongside Bolton?" Lana gritted her teeth. "Did you know your attacker is walking free?"

"You let him go free! So that you could get Oliver out of his hole! This was your idea!"

"You weren't complaining when I cut off his hands and made him crawl back to the Dreadfort!" The brunette pulled away. "If I remember well, you enjoyed the thought of it. I'm avenging you, Mary."

"You're avenging yourself," Mary spit. "Don't add me into your calculations, I took my revenge on Spivey. You're bloodthirsty now."

"For the man that raped me and took my child and who wore away at my father until he died, tormented and weeping. Would you do any less?" Lana looked her over. "Don't say you're not attracted to the idea."

Mary bit at the inside of her cheek, blue eyes sparking with anger. "You could die."

"I could, but I won't." The brunette leaned forward to knock her forehead with the girl's. "I need to do this, you know that."

The blonde sighed, the sound rattling in her throat. "I know."

"Are you still angry?"

"Your ambition will be the death of you."

Lana hummed, and Mary grunted back.

The blonde stayed sour through the night though she accepted Lana's displays of affection either way, the two keeping their voices relatively low all the way into dawn, into a cold sun that next morning. The dew had frozen in place, in blue whites, but now it was being trampled into shades of dark green that wet both boots and moods as the camp became alive.

Mary had followed Lana to her war council, a light frown thrown across her ivory features, as the captains of the woman's battalions trekked ahead of her, Ser Kit and the Karstark son, Luke, a young man with bright eyes and a charming smile, and Lady Misty followed by a nervous Cordelia, the blonde biting at the inside of her thumb.

The brunette took a seat at the head of the table, the rest doing the same as they waited for the lieutenants to filter in slowly, men from White Harbor and Ramsgate and Deepwood Motte who would lay their lives for the North, as she would for them. When the tent was filled to the brim, soldier spilling out the sides, Lana stood to mirror her men.

"We move past God's Eye today, following along the Kingsroad but staying off of it. We're too many to be invisible, but I don't want any poor farmer to see us coming as they're carting goods to the capital," she said. She looked up. "Where are my ends now?"

"They caught up at dinner last night," Luke replied. "They've had time to rest."

"You'll add the men of Riverrun to the flanks when they arrive, Lady Tully has been kind enough to join us. Until they arrive she'll run the men of Barrowton." She glanced at Misty. "The father could not come. He has gout." The blonde nodded. "Ser Kit?"

"If we march at double the pace, we can catch Bolton before Hayford Castle."

"But?"

Kit shook his head. "My Lord-"

"But," Lana repeated. "Ser Kit?"

The man shifted his weight, intertwining his fingers in front of his belt as he looked away. "But we can't march at double the pace, not if we want the men able to stand and fight immediately."

"If we follow at normal pace, we pass King's Landing's gates," Mary enunciated.

Lana glanced at her. "The direwolf does not back down," the brunette said harshly. "I am not letting him go. Not now, not this far. Step down, Septa Mary." Ice blue eyes sparked and she knew she would pay for it later. "If we run into the capital's streets, we do."

"What of Fiona Lannister?" Misty asked, fists against the table. "What of the Greyjoys and Targaryens?"

"I want Bolton's head on a plate, sooner than later," Lana said. "Do what you want with the rabble."

There was a flutter at the back of the men and they parted to let a guard through, panting. "Lord Stark-"

"Speak."

"A scouting party, outside the camp. To see you."

"Banners?" she asked.

"The red lion of Castamere."

The woman gritted her teeth as she dropped her head, shoulder blades knotted together. She took in a breath and stood to her full height, sparing a look at Mary. "Hold them there, I'll go." She pursed her lips as she flicked her arm out at Kit, and the young knight nodded and began pushing his way through the crowd, parting the men for her. Cordelia pulled Misty out of the brunette's way, wondering, working, eye on the woman. Lana paused long enough to place a stiff kiss to Mary's temple. The blonde pinched the small of her back, a reassuring nod exchanged between the two.

She took her horse, the mount fitted at all times now that they were so close to Bolton, and galloped her way to the outskirts of camp, a five minute ride that left the stallion winded as she thundered past her men, Kit following a moment later.

She looked down the nose of her horse at the lord of Castamere as she rounded him several times over, her men-at-arms with their spears down and encircling him. The man had come in full armor, sporting red on yellow, a distorted mirror to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock.

She narrowed her eyes as she came to a halt, pulling on the reins and the mount snorting. "Lord Charles."

He looked to the spears against his chest plate and nodded, light gaze finally looking up to the woman. "Stark."

"You're far from the Westerlands, why come all the way here?"

"The Westerlands have become a toxic environment, as it turns out," Charles said, bowing his head. He laughed lightly. "You wouldn't believe the amount of troops bearing the rose lion that have passed by our home."

"I can only imagine," Lana responded dryly. "Why are you here, Reyne?"

The man pushed at a metal tip with a finger, eyes on it. "We had to marry off our only niece to Dorne so that we could barely survive off of her dowry, under this Lannister rule. We've been bled dry, and yet all they do is stab us still." He looked away. "I regret it, I regret Madison, but I can't change her now. But I can change us."

"Speak quickly, Lord Charles, you've taken enough of my time already."

"We join you, my wife and I, and the men of Castamere."

She watched him, tugging on her reins as her horse whined and stomped the ground, before speaking. "If we lose, we die as traitors to the crown. You realize this."

"With all due respect, Lord Stark, I died a long time ago."

OOOoooOOO

"Repeat what you told me, please," the Axeman prodded. He glanced behind him. "The man received a raven."

Chad sucked at his bottom lip, scowling as he stood before the Lannister queen on her iron throne, the melted swords glinting in the light streaming through the seven pointed stars above them. She raised an eyebrow beneath her crown, chin in her hands and legs folded as she watched him from a height. Beside her on the dais, her lover glanced over the Baratheon lord.

"Well?" she asked. "Don't be wasting my time, Lord Chad."

"I've received word of the Vale from-" he paused and shook his head, "A little bird of mine."

"A little lover bird of his," the Axeman murmured.

Chad threw him a look, stiffening. "Lady Hayden is at Saltpans."

OOOoooOOO

Dandy breathed in the salty air, letting out a large sigh as he let his eyes rake over Evenfall Hall and the island of Tarth. He'd heard the rumors about this isle, all its riches in sapphires and mines, and he made a mental note to, once king, proclaim the precious stones as part of the crown's treasure.

He'd make a sword hilt.

Here in the Narrow Sea's channel, with Essos to their right and the seven kingdoms to their left, the waters were calm, though he knew that farther north, storms this late in the summer could be disastrous, turning into hurricanes at a whim.

From Lys they'd bordered the Disputed Lands into the Stepstones, pausing at the free city of Tyrosh to fetch fresh water, but not stopping long enough to be suspicious or be asked questions. He'd stepped off the ship, the Unsullied had not. The freaks hadn't left the hold.

They'd dipped into the Sea of Myrth, staying far from Cape Wrath and its lookouts, and passed Shipbreaker Bay slowly, light rainstorms making the waters choppy and giving the place its name as the morning light broke through thunderclouds. Maggie had seen it as a good sign and had proclaimed that fog would shadow their arrival to the capital, and to that he had grinned, throwing another gold coin to her. Nowadays she took them without flinching, adding them to a pile that only grew and grew.

He turned now to face the deck, leaning back on the rail and his fingers grabbing onto a rope. Sailors marched to and fro, watched over by Unsullied, and he'd had some of his freaks go and help swab around the main mast, his wives having vomited there earlier that day. Between the child and the ship's swaying, they'd been practically bed bound since the Grey Gallows.

He narrowed his eyes as he watched them come out of the captain's cabin now, stomach heavily showing beneath their light blue dress, purple bows in their hair, and he threw Dot an easy smile when she glanced over at him, Bette too busy looking towards the sun beginning to set to notice. He'd missed dinner again, both with them and the others in the galley, but he didn't care. They'd had company in the guise of Maggie who followed them out, gaze lowered as she breathed in and rubbed at her elbow, red blisters hidden when she pulled her sleeve back down and scowled at the horizon.

He began to move towards them, hand flicking out and Maggie pausing to give the twins place, head lowered, but he stopped and turned when he heard the hatch to the lower decks opening, rattling as wood dragged on wood, sound from the men coming up the stairs.

Jimmy clambered up onto the floor, barely missing the step as he groaned and took a moment to find his balance, a bottle in his hand. He threw back a holler down into the hatch, laughing when whoever down there was did too. He began to trip but the twins were there to catch him, and he gave them a 'thank you', passing his hand clumsily over Bette's shoulder blade. Dot grimaced lightly beneath Dandy's heavy gaze.

"Have Cookie lay him off the grog, will you?" he said dryly. "I wouldn't want him hurting himself."

"Oh, lay off," Jimmy slurred.

"Jimmy!" Bette chastised.

"Nah, nah," the boy continued. He waved vaguely at Dandy, the man watching him. "I can drink all I want, alright? It's down there, I can drink. Your little soldiers don't, it's gonna go to waste, you know? It's fuckin' simple."

"Simple," Dandy echoed, amused. "You're right."

"And hey," Jimmy grinned, his cheeks red. "I ain't the one carrying my child, yeah? I can drink."

"Pardon?"

"Oh, Jimmy."

Dandy took a step forward and lifted Jimmy to his feet, hand around his collar, and the lobster man's eyes bugged momentarily as he dry heaved against him. "Pardon?" he repeated. He slapped his cheek lightly, snapping his fingers in his face. "What did you say?"

"I just wanna drink, man-"

"Not that, freak, what you said afterwards. About my child."

"Your child?" Laughter bubbled out of Jimmy's throat and he began to cry lightly, fingers grasping at Dandy's as he continued to giggle. "What fucking baby is yours?"

"What baby is _yours_?" Dandy demanded back. He shook the boy. "Tell me!" Jimmy delicately pried himself out of his master's grip and he fell back against the railing. "That," he pointed to the twins, "Is mine, Master Dandy. That is mine." He laughed again. "I made that. With my cock. I made that and it's mine. I'm a daddy." He slowly fell down until he threw his legs out, back against the side of the ship, sobbing. "I'm a daddy."

Dandy's eyelid began to twitch and he closed his eyes, breathing in heavily. "Maggie."

The girl looked up, terrified, and she glanced quickly at the conjoined sisters. "Master?"

"Have you lied to me?"

"I never lied to you," the girl promised. "I swear, I only spoke of what I saw-"

"He's drunk, Dandy," Bette said. "He's drunk and he doesn't know what he's saying."

Dot took it up. "Look at him he's crying, he can't stand, he-"

"No man lies when he drinks," Dandy hissed back. "That's the beauty of it. You slept with him."

It was a statement.

The two looked away, their fingers intertwining on their belly.

The man laughed lightly, teeth showing, and he glanced back down at Jimmy. "Lobster boy, stand."

"I don't think I can."

" _Stand_!"

Jimmy struggled to his feet and he used the ropes to help and hold him up, sun falling behind him. He gazed over the man wearily.

"That child, inside there, is mine, Jimmy the Lobster Boy," Dandy enunciated. "At the next port we make, you will step off this ship and disappear forever. You will not come to my seven kingdoms, you will not see these girls again. Is that clear?"

The boy nodded, struggling to breathe with Dandy so close. "I'm, I'm sorry sir. Thank you."

Dandy smiled. "You're sober now?" Dandy leaned in to speak to him. "Good and sober?"

"Yes. Yes." the boy assured him. "Thank you sir, thank you."

"I like you sober."

"I like me sober too, sir."

"I'm sure you do."

Jimmy grimaced and began to speak, but his vocal chords were cut along with his jugular running red down his neck with his heartbeat and into his clothes as he struggled to hold his throat, slit from ear to ear.

Behind Dandy, Bette screamed with Dot, their pitches matching. Jimmy fell back, stepping and slipping in his own blood, and one gentle push from the Slave King had him falling over the railing.

He made a soft splash falling into the water, red running off the side after him.

Dandy turned to the twins, both sobbing now with their hands against their stomach, Maggie reaching for them, but the man pushed the younger girl away. "You betrayed me."

"Dandy, Dandy please."

"You betrayed me and I'm supposed to love you now? I do but I can't, can I? Sweet Bette, sweet Dot." He shook his head, reaching to run his fingers along their cheeks. "I love you. You betrayed me but I love you."

"It's yours, Dandy, it's yours, we swear," Dot assured him as Bette cried on, gaze on where Jimmy had last been. "He's yours, he's always been yours." Beside them, Maggie nodded rapidly, Bette's hand tight in hers. "I know, darlings, I know," Dandy cooed. "It couldn't be his, could it? Not that freak's?" They shook their heads together, Dot's fingers digging into the skin by their navel.

He stepped into their space, backing them until they could do nothing but hug him back as he embraced them, the baby between them as they cried silently. He glanced back at Maggie. "Stop shivering, girl, I'm not killing you today, I need you for now."

The splash they made was a little louder, and he wondered if at three, they would sink faster.

He rubbed his hands together, as if wiping away the feel of the twins, upper lip curled up in the hint of a sneer. He faced Maggie. "I don't need no wives to carry me a child that is not mine. I will bed whatever Westerosi whore I must to have my son, but you I cannot find again as easily." He pouted. "Don't disappoint me."

OOOoooOOO

Her armor was bronze, stiff against her skin and more for show than practicality, but it'd been a present of Kyle's along with the map of Castamere he'd drawn for her for their wedding, and so she loved it. He himself only wore a light shift, the cold metal too much for him to wear in both weight and mobility, but the sword at his side was very real, slapping against his horse's leg rhythmically as they rode, the two followed by an army of five thousand Dornish men, spears pointed to the sky.

Alicia had, after all, burned rather than hang, her screams silently delighting Madison more than seeing her turn blue would ever had, and the army had left Sunspear mere hours later, black smoke still rising against fluffy white clouds and Kyle with his mind clearer than it'd ever been.

Between his mother's demise and their take on the war reinvigorating him, he was the calmest she'd seen him since she'd arrived in the south.

Though the royal couple were at the forefront of the column, they'd left Zoe, Queenie, and Nan behind at the capital. After all, if something happened, Zoe's family was next in line for the throne, and Nan was a liability, Madison knew enough of her husband now that she didn't need help understanding him. The man could write if he needed to, anyway. As for Queenie, the dirty blonde just couldn't stand her.

They followed the Greenblood upstream, and at Godsgrace, a sight for her sore eyes, men were waiting to join the army already, pushing their numbers up by half a thousand, another half of thousand waiting at the junction of the Vaith and the river from the eponyme city further south. They would follow the tributary of the Scourge up to Yronwood, where the last of their eventual forces waited, promising seven thousand at their backs in all, more than enough to overrun an empty border. They were so light that they were taking no time at all to march through Dorne, the warriors a light infantry, and the thought of them running and jumping the Prince's Pass into Westeros had her giddy.

"I'm more than just my name," she'd told Kyle. "I'm more than a name and a face, I'm a conqueror," she'd added, squinting her eyes against the desert sun. "I'll show the Lannisters. I'll show my family."

OOOoooOOO

If a feast hadn't been prepared for that night days prior then Spalding and Lawrence Frey of the Twins would not have had the opportunity to sit across from Fiona Lannister in the Red Keep's hall, but for all they knew, the dinner had been made to honor their arrival into both King's Landing and the queen's armies, and so they sat both with large smiles on their faces, easily taking the plates placed in front of them in turn.

Lawrence talked a lot through the burns on his face, his dead eye shifting along with his working one as he ate heartily and chatted, something that annoyed Fiona deeply, but she figured he talked for both him and his brother. Spalding, older by seven minutes, or so they said, wasn't much of a talker when it came to anything but business matters.

The two Freys had inherited the Twins on the Green Fork and its toll road during her late husband's war campaigns, and from there they'd whole-heartedly embraced the idea of making passer bys pay for their use of their bridge. One brother held one tower, one brother the other, and together they'd doubled the toll. That they weren't appreciated was no news to anyone in the seven kingdoms.

She watched them, the Axeman to her left and Chad Baratheon to her right, the twins across from them. They'd arrived five thousand strong ahead of both the Boltons and the Starks, though the former were only two days away.

Lawrence hummed as he swallowed and reached for another bread roll. "You won't believe what our scouts saw as we were coming down."

"I don't think I would," Fiona replied dryly. She noted Chad hadn't eaten anything, his black eyes on the twins and his fork merely pushing around his plate. "Would you share?"

"It would be better to, we're in this together now, aren't we?" he said. He glanced at his brother and Spalding nodded, chin jutted out though his mouth was closed. For all the hair he had in greasy strings falling down from his scalp, Lawrence was bald from the burns he'd acquired so long ago, tufts of hair behind his ear and above one eye but not the other. He took a bite again. "No, us not saying would be crazy, and a waste of time."

"Then speak," the queen prompted.

"What would you give us for our information?" Spalding asked, voice harrowingly deep compared to his twin's high pitch.

She fell back into her chair, smiling. "Is this what it comes down to, our alliance?"

"If we come to die, then we want something back."

"If you want to die, only open your keep's doors. The people will take care of you in a matter of hours," Chad said. He reached for his glass. "I hardly think you'd fight."

"We'd need recompense for the death of our men, not ours," Lawrence explained. "I can't possibly fight, though wish I could. These scars," he grimaced as he shifted his shoulder, "These scars don't let me do much, unfortunately."

Beside Fiona, the Axeman grunted.

"But my men will want a reward," the Frey continued cheerily.

"Name your price before dessert, lest you ruin my night," Fiona said.

"We want the Riverlands, your grace." Lawrence said as he dabbed at the corner of his mouth. "Don't think we do this for free. If the Boltons get the North, we take our share."

"Is this blackmail?"

"It's collateral damage. It's a war. It happens."

"What did your scouts see, Lord Freys."

Spalding spoke. "The Targaryens have left Dragonstone by foot."

"And the Greyjoys have set sail for the bay."

"The dragon was seen leaving Duskendale a few days ago, he'll be near Stokeworth by now," the other added.

"Wonderful," Fiona replied.

"You look less than enthusiastic," Lawrence remarked.

"Would you be if your kingdom was threatened from the inside?" she snapped back.

The man held his hands up. "I'm just saying, that's all. Don't yell at me."

"Tell her," Spalding muttered.

Lawrence glanced at his twin before looking to Fiona. "The Riverlands, your grace?"

"Yours if you tell me," Fiona said. _And if you shut up in the end_.

"We have a few friends down south. For free passage through the Twins they keep us, let's say, in the loop." Lawrence quirked an eyebrow. "What do you know of Dorne?"

"I know some Castamere girl's become the princess."

"The dowager Princess Alicia is dead. The Crown Prince's new girl burned her."

Chad choked lightly on his wine and he waved his hand apologetically at the queen when she turned to him sharply. He laughed lightly. "Forgive me. I wouldn't have thought she'd have the balls."

"Prince Kyle sure didn't," the queen's lover said. "Talk about making your mark."

"What about Dorne, Frey?" Fiona asked, annoyed.

Spalding smiled, his voice rumbling in his throat. "They're at Yronwood. You moved all your troops away from their borders and they're taking the opportunity to raid the lands outside the Pass."

Fiona looked to the Axeman and the man nodded. "I'll send someone."

OOOoooOOO

No man had died finding their way down the mountains with the wind at their back, and to that Hayden Arryn was thankful. The ones who had fallen had gotten right back up, both the clansmen and men of the Vale, though many had injuries, and the dead who even if a limb came detached, kept right on walking. She half wished, in those moments of dangling arms and jaws, that she'd kept Billie Dean by her side. She wanted to know what they were saying between their grunts and groans. She wondered if they felt pain.

It was warmer here at sea level, and she'd shed her shadowcat furs and left them on top of one of the weapons cart, armor reflecting the light fully as they'd marched out of Quiet Isle the week before, having crossed the bridge of earth between it and Saltpans at low tide. The last of the column had had to wade and even swim, but they'd made it through in one go. From there they hadn't lessened the beat of their march.

With Ser Patrick calling out the orders for her, they'd passed Antlers and its hall, seat to House Buckwell, and in between Sow's Horn and Duskendale, using the large fields as their camping grounds as they stayed, now, away from any other home they might encounter. From their scouts she'd heard other halls were being used by other armies, and she had no want to meet them at the moment. She needed her men fully rested for King's Landing and her taking of the iron throne.

From where they rested now she could see the Red Keep, pink in the light haze of pollution, and she watched it as she ate dinner, the men at her back doing the same in their tents and around their campfires. She'd had someone cook for her, her chair and table set out to face the dying sun and the light breeze ruffling through the tall grasses.

"What gate shall we use?" she asked.

She turned in her seat, eyebrows up as she waited for Ser Patrick to answer her. He shifted his weight, eyes narrowed as he gazed at the horizon. "The Dragon Gate, my lady."

"And the dragon?"

"Will most likely use the same. It all depends on whether you'll want to go in for the first blow, or let them clash against the first waves of Lannister shields."

"Why should we tire ourselves? Let the Targaryen boy take the lead," Hayden said. "Sit, Ser Patrick, you make me nervous standing behind me. Eat something."

"Nervous how?"

She stared him down and he did as asked, pulling up a chair and taking the plate given to him by a servant and reaching forward into the pot on the table to fill it.

"They'll attack at dawn," he added.

"Who?"

"Anyone," he replied. "It'll be foggy, you can feel it in the air."

"It feels like home," Hayden sighed. "Are we looking at a bloodbath?"

"One of the best," he hummed back.

She looked back to the falling sun. "And so we too attack at dawn." She played with her spoon. "Tell the men of the Vale yourself, and have Marie tell the clansmen to rally. I don't think we need to relay the word to the-" She paused to mull over her words. "The dead men."

Patrick snorted. "Would they even understand?"

"Perhaps if you threw bloody meat into their midst they'd go into a frenzy. Like with sharks," she said softly. She shrugged, grimacing. "Dead sharks."

They ate silently, Patrick more than the girl who would anxiously ride her horse into battle, her armor being cleaned in her tent as they sat and dined. She wouldn't have dirt in between links or plates, not if blood was to mix in with the silver and steel.

The Redfort heir finally stood, bowing lightly as he pushed away from the table and placed his utensils by his plate. "I'll rouse the troops now, have them ready to march before they sleep. Rest well, your grace."

"And you, Ser Patrick," she replied. "Ser Patrick?" He turned and she spared him a glance. "Remember, the Baratheon lord is our enemy, and the throne is mine."

OOOoooOOO

"It's beautiful, quite honestly. The architecture is exquisite. Don't you think?" The boy turned halfway, feet firmly planted in the ground and his arms crossed over his chest. "It reminds me of home. Though there's not enough of home here for me. If Violet wishes it, I'll have the crown's seat moved to Dragonstone. There we can be left alone to rule." He glanced back at Ser Travis. "Well? What do you think?"

"The stone is red," the man answered, shrugging. "Though the cut is similar, yes."

"Details," Tate replied. He turned fully, black eyes pausing a moment longer on the Dragon Gate before he gazed upon the Targaryen army, black and red flags flying high above tents with three-headed dragons to the banners. From where he stood he could see campfires from both his men and another's, five miles off and twinkling in the dusk like a city. Whoever they were, the wind carried a horrid smell with them, like decaying and rotting meat. If at dawn the battle smelled like the death on the breeze, he wouldn't quite mind. "It is one of our colors, after all."

Travis bowed lightly. "My lord."

The boy hummed. "Are our men ready?"

"Polished and fed and rested."

"Who do you think they are?" Tate asked. Travis followed his gaze to the camp far behind them, narrowing his own eyes to focus.

"The Stark Lord would come off the Kingsroad, whoever they are they are not the wolf, they're too far east. The Vale most likely, my lord."

"They let us overtake them during the day?" Tate scoffed. "Cowards. Hiding in their mountains and hiding behind me." He shook his head. "I wish we'd seen them in daylight without their fires, perhaps we could have dented their armor as we'd passed by."

"I can have a troop hang back."

"Do so."

"I'll go relay orders for the morning."

"It'll be a dawn full of fog," Tate said softly. "Ser Travis?"

"My lord?"

"Why did you travel on land? I would have thought you'd have gone with your kraken lord and through the bay. You are, after all, born of the sea."

"I haven't felt true earth beneath my feet in a long time, Lord Tate, I'll be back on a ship soon enough, or a prince in the Drowned God's palace, whichever comes first. I am of the sea even here. What are you of?"

Tate smiled. "The Drowned God, as you."

OOOoooOOO

"Seven hells, you're tense."

"You should be, too," Lana said. She groaned, her head falling forward when Mary pressed into her shoulder blade with the heel of her palm. The girl left a kiss to the brunette's temple as she dug into the knots along her spine, the woman grimacing. She pushed the blonde away. "I give, I give. I'd rather be knotted up."

Mary's fingers raked down the brunette's back but she yielded, leaning forward to rest her chin on the woman's shoulder. "What if you pull something?"

Lana shook her head. "I don't think I'll notice. The feeling of war is-" She paused to think. "It's something else entirely. You don't feel tired, or pain, or the sweat rolling down your back. It's when it stops that you want to throw up." The blonde's eyebrow raised and Lana laughed lightly. "Excited yet?"

The girl didn't respond, instead sitting up on her knees to embrace the woman from the back, wrapping her arms around strong shoulders. "I want to experience it."

"You're lucky I didn't leave you in Winterfell."

"Only because you were worried."

"I won't have you fight."

"Then why have bows manufactured for me?"

The Lord of Winterfell turned to watch the blonde, black eyes narrowed.

"Let me fight, Lana."

"You won't be safe."

"Give me Ser Kit then." Mary moved to sit at the woman's side. "I can find a rampart to hide behind. I'll be safe."

"War isn't safe."

"Life isn't either."

"Wise words from a septa who's only just experienced it."

The blonde cocked her head to the side, gaze narrowed dangerously on the woman, and Lana finally shook her head. "I don't want you hurt, Mary."

"You can't keep me contained forever, Lana," the girl warned.

Lana sighed as she reached up to push a strand of hair behind Mary's ear, resting her fingers against the nape of the blonde's neck. "I know."

"I'd find my way into the fight anyway," Mary added.

"I know," the lord laughed. She dropped her forehead to the girl's. "Gods, I know."

Mary flashed a little smile, kissing her lover in the process, hands finding their way into chestnut strands.

"Lana?"

"Mary."

"What will you do once you have your son back?"

Lana grimaced as she pulled away, upper lip curled back. "Let's not have this conversation."

"Let's. You obviously haven't thought about it." Mary followed Lana as she moved to sit back against the headboard.

"No, I have. He can go to the Wall."

"He's three years old!"

"Then he'll make a fine warrior, being trained from so early on." Lana scowled. "Don't look at me like that, I want nothing to do with him. He's not mine."

"You may not want him, but he doesn't deserve your contempt."

"Doesn't he?"

"He's innocent, Lana," Mary snapped.

"And what would you have me do? Take him in? Raise him as my son?" Lana demanded. "He's a bastard. He's a Snow, and I won't have a Snow at Winterfell."

The blonde stuck her chin out. "Then let me have him."

The queen stared her down, fingers intertwined with Mary's tightening until they were both fighting a grimace. She looked away. "You'd raise him."

"Gods, no, Lana. What would I do with a child? I can barely take care of myself." Mary shook her head and tugged Lana closer, the brunette coming to her reluctantly. "Send him to Oldtown. He can become a septon."

"Because that worked well for you?"

"As a bastard he'll be thankful for the chance he's gotten. It's a high honor to be trained as one." Mary sighed. "And if not septon, then maester. He can pick if you don't want to pick for him."

"Do whatever you want with him when we fetch him."

"But you will," the blonde prompted. "Fetch him, I mean." She followed Lana's gaze.

"I don't want him," the queen growled back. "But I won't leave him to the Boltons. He's not my son," she added. "But," she paused, unsure of herself, "He is family." Mary's shoulders softened and she leaned forward to press a kiss to the brunette's cheek.

"Save him and I'll take care of the rest. He'll have a good home. I promise you."

Lana watched her. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because I care about you." Mary shrugged. "Because I love you. And I'll be at your side tomorrow when the sun rises and the fog falls-" She laughed when Lana pulled a face, but the woman didn't try to fight her. She kissed her. "And we'll save the North."

OOOoooOOO

With their army at her back, Madison Nymeros Martell looked into the abyss that was the Prince's Pass. Dark clouds had accumulated overhead and shadowed their walk for days now and it darkened the path ahead too, the cliffs throwing hard blacks and grays across the chasm. But she'd raised her fist in the air and Kyle had done the same and behind them the Dornish had stopped, coming to a halt in a rush of clanking metal.

Five hundred meters off and standing in the Pass's way stood a battalion, banners flying the lion and its rose held by the men on horseback, a thousand at the least, two at the most, and all richly equipped. Kyle turned to Madison when he understood the Lannister lion being flown, his frown heavy, but she didn't meet his gaze, hazel eyes on the man preceding the troops instead.

She broke from her ranks and rode her horse forward as he did, the two meeting halfway away from their troops, and he circled around her as they watched each other. The man towered, as did his mount, and in how young she was, he was old. He stared down at her from his crooked nose, his head uncovered from his strong helmet that otherwise hid his bald dome that she knew so well, and finally he sneered as he came to a stop before her, horse snorting.

"Ser Arthur Clegane," she remarked. "I wouldn't have thought they'd send you here, not with the war in King's Landing,"

"I thought I'd be at the capital too, being a seasoned soldier, but the queen saw the opportunity to send me here. She knows how I love my Dornish pets," he enunciated, smiling. He shifted his mount forward as he rose in his seat. "Though I will admit I didn't quite believe her when she suggested that a faction of Dorne would dare rise."

"A faction?" she echoed. "All of Dorne rises."

"You rise, silly girl. They simply follow because you command. You have no man at your back." Ser Arthur laughed lightly. "I can see your Martell from here, antsy and itching to go home." She fought to keep her gaze forward, fingers tied around her reins. The man shook his head. "The borders are closed, Lady Madison. Return from where you came."

"I roam where I will, I am crown princess of Dorne," she replied, rising her head. "Remove yourself from my path."

"Return peacefully and no harm will come to you," Ser Arthur echoed. He grimaced. "Go home, you would only find death here if you would move forward."

"Not enslavement?" she asked. "You surprise me, Ser Arthur."

"The idea had crossed my mind," he admitted. He cast a long look over her shoulder. "Such fine specimens your army holds."

"And such specimens your hold will not know. We are seven thousand strong, you less than two."

His grin grew, amused. "How many of yours are trained soldiers? Soldiers of profession? I have been a bred for war since birth. You only now wear a toy sword at your hip." His mount took a step forward and hers one back, almost as if cowering. "Go home," he thundered.

"We fight," she snapped. "And you will regret this, enemy of Dorne." She spun her mount around, watching him for a moment longer before letting out a ' _hyah_ ' and pressing her heel into the horse's flank, pulling away.

He watched her ride her mount away, back to momentary safety. A man came to him from behind, a Tarly lieutenant. His gaze ran over the girl too before he turned to Arthur.

"Ser, what shall we do?"

The Clegane sighed as he pulled on his armored gloves. "Notch an arrow into her back. Kill the rest."

OOOoooOOO

They'd sailed down Blackwater Bay silently, a galleon and half a hundred other ships with their sails brought in and their oars pulled into the holds, the current driving them closer and closer to the capital.

Dandy had wanted them to be as invisible for as long as they could afford it, and the fog Maggie Esmeralda had promised was turning out to be most useful in his endeavor. The sailors allowed on deck were unable to see a gull flying by their head unless it cawed or ruffled the tops of their scalps. He himself paced the length of the ship from the bow to the stern as he looked to where King's Landing would have been if he could see it. Beneath him, in the hold, the Unsullied waited, fully armored and itching to leave their wooden prisons. The freaks, meanwhile, shook where they sat, where he'd left them. None would dare move without his word now.

He turned when the hatch to the lower decks opened and the captain of his Unsullied came out, helmet low on his brow and fingers tight around his spear. Wooden Doll was his name, as he'd muttered to his master when he'd first been asked. Trained from infancy on in forms of short sword, shield, phalanx strategies, and various lengths of spears, Dandy had no qualms about the army he'd bought for what seemed like the lowest of prices. Wooden Doll bowed lightly as behind him came the captain of the ship itself, the hatch closing behind him.

"Well?" Dandy asked. He knew he should whisper in the carrying dark but he didn't have the patience.

"We drop anchor here."

"There's no port," the young man replied. "We're still miles off the capital."

"We swim," Wooden Doll said.

Dandy laughed lightly. "You swim? I didn't know they had pools where you're from." He sobered. "Do what you will as long you get it done."

"We swim, we walk to King's Landing, we take the Iron Gate. We will be inside the city wall for the dawn."

"Is that gate the closest to the Red Keep and the iron throne?"

The ship's captain nodded.

The Slave King's eyebrows raised. "Then swim, little eunuch, swim."

Though they didn't speak, Dandy could hear from where he was at the bow, watching the waters beneath, the thousands of Unsullied rising from his ships' holds and lowering themselves into the bay with soft splashes into the waves. From there, the warriors walked the shores with their weapons above their heads to the beaches. They didn't stop to make camp or to breathe, only began marching once the ships were empty.

He came off last. His horse, unsteady on its legs now after months at sea, fought for a moment but finally let him on, stepping to and fro. He looked to where Maggie was, the girl watching with her arms crossed over the furs on her shoulders, shivering in the coming dusk.

"Will you come?" he asked. "We have no time to lose now, the sun is coming and I want to catch Westeros by surprise."

"What of the-" She looked behind her at the ships in the river, ghostly still. "What of the rest of your slaves?"

"Oh, don't worry. I have an Unsullied staying behind to take care of them when the time comes. They won't be trouble for us once I'm on the throne." He pushed his heel into his horse. "Keep up, girl, the army waits for no one."

She took the reins that were offered to her by a soldier and she threw her leg over the mount, gaze on the galleon still. The tips of her fingers flitted with her pockets, full of golden coins.

She turned her horse around and followed Dandy.

OOOoooOOO

"Empty, my lord."

Ben Greyjoy scowled, gray eyes on the galleons from another world left on the Blackwater Rush. Too clean to be ghost ships, he mused.

The Iron Island's fleet had sailed from Dragonstone to Rosby's coasts and further on, disembarking about twelve miles from King's Landing and behind a bend and going off of foot from there, a day and some into their march now, but the sight of ships from Essos had made Ben pause. There were too many, all too big to be mere trading boats.

He'd sent men to climb up their sides expertly as the rest of his fleet continued down the road, and his lieutenant stood before him now, out of breath and as confused as he.

"Completely empty?"

"There's dead bodies, some freakish things. A woman with," the man glanced back at his soldiers, "With three breasts, and a man with stunted arms. But nothing else. Traces of horses, tools. The coals were still warm." He shifted. "Whoever they are, they're gone."

" _Sir_!"

Ben turned abruptly, watching as a boy ran his horse down the column, hair flying. The young scout jumped off before his mount had time to stop, the reins caught by another man, and he took a knee before Ben, chest heaving.

"Speak, Amir."

"An army, off the road and headed for King's Landing, two miles ahead and two off the city."

"Banners?"

"They fly none, my lord."

The kraken lord turned back to gaze at the ships. "What have we here, an invader?"

"Well timed, don't you think?"

"It is, Ser Jason. Can we catch them?"

Amir spoke. "They're heavy infantry, sir. Phalanges."

The lieutenant looked to the horizon, the fog heavy still. "We can catch them in the hour then."

"Have the war drums beat faster. Amir, have a raven sent to Tate Targaryen, now." Ben glanced to Jason. "Let's find out who these Essosi are, shall we?"

They rode hard ahead of the men hurried behind them by a frantic drum beat, gazes cutting through a fog that didn't let them see more than fifteen paces ahead. They made good time, no matter that Ben's horse threatened to break its leg more than once over the harsh terrain walked over too many times by carts and farmers. By now they could hear whoever's drums beating too, and the ground shook between both their marchings.

Amir ran ahead on foot, disappearing in the low clouds and running tracks between both armies repeatedly and hiding out of sight, but the men made so much noise that they wouldn't have heard the Greyjoy fleet in any case.

Proven when Ben spied a row of horses preceded by armored warriors walking tightly together. He looked to his lieutenant.

Ser Jason knocked an arrow into his bow, cocking the string back, and he let it fly into the Essosi.

Dandy whirled on his horse, the animal sent into a frenzy as the Unsullied turned and became one unit, spears raised and waiting for orders.

Their master pushed his way through them, Maggie following closely behind, yelling out in a language Ben wouldn't understand. "Push the first half forward onto King's Landing," he yelled at Wooden Doll. "Have the rest kill these Westerosi dogs!"

OOOoooOOO

"I hear them, but I don't see them. Why haven't they rushed the city yet?" Hayden demanded. Ser Patrick looked to her, he too on his mount and both animals itching to move. "What is the dragon doing?" she asked again. "What do they know that we don't? The sun is rising!"

"Give it time, my lady," he replied. "Their fires have been doused, they'll move soon enough."

"Sooner than later would be nice," she growled back. She twisted in her seat to look over her shoulder. "Where's Marie? I had her fetched a half an hour ago."

"She's coming. The column's long, my lady, and you placed the clansmen far back."

"Don't patronize me, Ser Patrick!"

He shook his head and turned his gaze back on the capital, silent in the distance. "Do you think Fiona Lannister had the city evacuated?"

"Knowing her and her interests, I wouldn't think so," she replied. "Where is that infuriating woman?" Her horse stepped back and forth beneath her, as restless as its rider. "I swear to the gods she'll be as dead as the rest of them if she doesn't come faster." She raised herself in her saddle, overlooking her army standing at attention, some leaning heavily on their spears as they waited impatiently. Far off, she spied the black sorceress and she rode to meet her, Patrick following after a moment, exasperated.

"Where is the minotaur?" Hayden demanded.

"With my men, as he should be," Marie replied. "Why?"

"I will have him at the forefront, pushing through first."

"So that he may do your work."

"Fetch him, Marie," the brunette snapped. "As soon as the Targaryen boy goes, then we do too."

"Will he?" Marie asked. "Ravens flew here from the East. Hurried birds on the wings of the wind."

"I thought we'd left Billie back at the Eyrie," Ser Patrick remarked dryly, eyebrow raised.

Hayden ignored him. "What of these ravens? Just messages."

"Then they would have attacked already," the woman replied. "Something is wrong."

"And you can't tell what?" the knight asked.

"Why don't you go find out? I'm not your dog."

Patrick bristled but Hayden only gave a click of her tongue, calling him down.

The three turned, the brunette pulling on her reins, when there was a series of shouts and a deafening bang from behind them, the heavily clouded sky turning orange and yellow in the distance, smoke rising with the flames from King's Landing. The camp came alive.

Hayden pulled her horse's head down before it reared. "What the fuck-!"

Ser Patrick's head turned left and right as his mount stepped forward and backward, spooked. "That came from the Iron Gate, my lady-"

"The Iron Gate! No one's at the Iron Gate!" she yelled back. "Only the Baratheon forces and the city watch are there and they're inside the walls, are they setting fire to themselves now!"

"Something's wrong," Marie said. "The dragon knew-"

"Knew what, seven hells!" Hayden turned. "Ser Patrick, we're moving now."

"The Targaryens-"

"I don't give a fuck about the Targaryens, first one in is the first one up the Keep's steps, _get me in there_!"

She rode up the column and towards the city catching on fire from the Iron Gate in, and Ser Patrick followed, yelling orders to the army that had woken from boredom with the noises, grips tight around their weapons. The dead's smell wasn't masked by the smell of fire and cinders coming down in the wind. They were the first lines, moving steadily down the hills to the Dragon Gate five hundred meters off, and the Lady Hayden preceded them, crown around her temple and light blue cape tight around her shoulders. But the heavy footsteps behind her made her turn in her saddle, and she watched as the minotaur ran through the lines of the dead men, pushing them aside as it roared and took its place ahead, double-bladed ax swinging with his each footstep. It continued to bellow, making enough noise for the rest of the army, pulling them in behind them and driving them forward. Hayden spared Marie a glance and a nod.

He broke through the gate like it was mere matchsticks, the ax splitting the wood in a short minute, the city watch at the top of the rampart moving away from the walls and down the stairs, yelling and screaming when shortbow arrows from the clansmen shot them through the armors from farther in.

The creature didn't care who it massacred as it ran through his first streets of King's Landing, soldier, man, woman, or child making the mistake of stepping out of their homes at the first sounds. Hayden's horse was already stepping on bodies as she unsheathed her longsword and hacked her way farther herself, the city watch falling beneath her and Ser Patrick and Marie with her club, her swings as wild as the minotaur's.

From where the smoke of the flames traveled through the streets came men armored from head to toe, their skins as dark as earth, and their shields before them, spears down. They advanced as one towards the dead who were unorganized, their jaws wide as they yelled and ran. Hayden's horse reared as the Unsullied crashed into the Vale's dead.

OOOoooOOO

Tate grinned, watching with unhidden glee as a man screamed in horror as his body was engulfed by flames, the boy's dragon screeching overhead as it flew away, spewing fireballs at the ants crawling beneath it. His horse tittered as the man ran past, but it'd been trained on Dragonstone to ignore smoke and fire. He'd allowed himself to be the first of the Targaryen to enter the city, pet perched on his forearm and screaming to fly, talons digging into the grooves it'd dug for years in Tate's skin.

He'd received the Greyjoy raven and done as asked by the kraken lord, waited. But watching the Arryn girl go in (she was pretty but not as pretty as Violet, he figured he'd married the right one) with that _creature_ , had made him envious. Jealous. The throne would be his, and he'd made a mental note to remove her from the battle in the history books. None would know that King Tate I had been second into the capital after a woman from the Vale.

He'd thrown his arm back and then forward, the dragon taking off like an eagle into the sky with a high pitched cry torn out of its throat, and he'd ridden after it through the gate, Dragonstone men following with war filled yells. The smell of decay was stronger here, mixed with burning houses and the army Ben had described shortly in his message, dark skinned and expertly trained.

But whoever the Vale had employed or trained did not step back in front of career soldiers, instead moving forward in a frenzy that Tate could only call insane. But he yelled for his own men to follow and they did, the Westerosi and Essosi crashing along the edges of Rhaenys's Hill, the Dragon Pit's charred ruins above them throwing shadows as the sun rose higher. He pushed his horse up the hill, sword and reins tight in his grip, and looked back behind him, finding the foreign warriors deep in battle with men of both red and blue. Black was being added to the mix, black and gold from the Greyjoy fleet flooding through the system of streets from the direction of the Iron Gate.

But though Ben pushed forward from behind, the Essosi did not stay to fight. They moved forward too, pushing at the Targaryens and Arryns, and the boy realized that they were being pulled away from the north of the city and into it's center, farther from the Red Keep.

His chest boiled with rage at the invaders, whoever they were to take the opportunity that had so readily been offered to _him_ , and he traveled back down the hill in a fury, dragon before him and opening his way as he reared into the warriors, sword stabbing into the crevices between their shields.

A short sword hacked into his horse's flank and the animal fell forward, Tate falling with it and landing hard on his knees, his teeth rattling inside his helmeted head. He raised and used his foot to wrench the sword out of the horse, yelling as he threw it back into the soldier's face. He grabbed at his own Valyrian steel and hacked into the men nearest, trained warriors and men of the Vale alike, ignoring the green blood that vomited the latter.

Something grabbed at his raised arm and he whirled, elbow ready to snap into whoever's temple, but he paused, Ben's eyes staring him down from beneath his own helmet.

"We have to push them back to the Street of Sisters! There's too many!" the man yelled.

"Take your own fleet there!" Tate replied harshly. "I push for the Keep-"

Ben pulled him back. "No, you don't. Get the Essosi farther from the hold, whoever is running them is running for the throne too."

"Who told him!" Tate screamed back. "Who told this dog he could come into our country, _my_ country, and bring these fucking-" He turned and stabbed a man, the soldier's yelling cut through. "- _Bastards_ -!"

The kraken lord rapped at the top of the boy's head. "Street of Sisters, _now_!"

Tate roared out as Ben moved away, grabbing for his horse, and he turned on himself to grab at the nearest lieutenant, barking out his orders. He glanced back to the kraken lord, about to yell for him back, but his voice caught in his throat.

The Arryn creature he'd seen earlier from afar stood at the end of the alley, taller than he'd previously thought, taller and larger and more menacing. It loomed over Ben, the kraken lord looking up into red eyes. And as the man raised his sword, the monster's hand reached out and grabbed at the lord's arm.

Ben was lifted into the air, another clawed hand grabbing at his waist, and Tate watched as, with a bellow, he was ripped limb from limb.

The boy turned, fear gripping at his insides as he heard the minotaur drop the pieces of Ben's body to the ground, roaring with its muzzle and forearms wet with blood, the sounds smacking and wet. He turned and slammed into Travis, the knight's gaze slipping from Tate to his kraken lord, and his kraken lord. And his kraken lord.

Tate gripped at the man's chest, trying to push him out of the way and to pull him along, but Travis held him tight in his grip, watching over his shoulder at the monstrosity that continued to smash through soldiers.

"Travis, go, go-!"

The man grabbed the Targaryen boy and brought him closer, their chest plates hitting each others, and Tate let out a gasp, slumping against the Greyjoy knight. He pawed at his side as he wriggled, knees threatening to give out beneath him, and he yelped out as Travis dug the knife a little farther between his ribs, twisting the blade. He was let go and he fell to his knees, breathing out as the world began to swim in his vision.

Travis's foot raised and landed on his shoulder and he was pushed until he fell onto his back, slumping against cobblestone. He watched the knight grimace, blood on his knife and hand, and disappear from view.

His breathing was shallow and he waited to die, his hearing going before his eyes did, the world suddenly muffled and dangerously silent. He winced when something brushed against his fingers and he was worried that it was the minotaur come to finish him, but when he raised his dark eyes he stared into a woman's face. He would have guessed a wife of King's Landing, but she was too pretty, too calm for the mayhem, and he couldn't have said how old she was.

He laughed lightly, blood welling at the bottom of his throat. "Have you come to take me?"

The dark haired woman, her lips pursed, nodded. "I have, dear boy."

"Well fuck." He smiled bitterly. "And here I thought I wouldn't have been good enough for the Stranger."

"I don't judge."

"You're so beautiful," he murmured. "Your statues don't do you justice."

"Will you kiss me, Tate Targaryen?"

"Have you kissed Lord Ben?"

"Every part of him."

"Then kiss me."

OOOoooOOO

Lana cursed the uses of gray in the north as she watched the direwolf men crash into Boltons and Freys from where she was on Visenya's Hill, in the Great Sept of Baelor's shadows.

It'd been more than a few hours, but she couldn't tell how long exactly, since they'd broken through the gate and pursued the first of the northerners they'd seen, her at the forefront. She'd killed however many Boltons, each looking more and more like Oliver but none being him, but her horse had broken its leg and after she'd ended its life with a clean death, she'd retreated to the hill until she could find another horse, Bone Shatter red with blood and dripping onto the pavement.

She marched through the sept, the building's maze-like hallways used as headquarters to Misty's insistence, the septons and septas and silent sisters cowering behind statues and going unattended save for Cordelia trying her best to calm them down, murmuring to each and kneeling before them. Mary had fought to step outside, but Lana'd had Ser Kit attached to her hip since they'd walked into the city, walling him and her into the sept.

Beneath the high dome she found her wounded men. She wanted hard to pause to speak to every one of them but she only stayed a moment by those who wouldn't see the next dawn or Winterfell again, the others healthy enough in her eyes. She pushed through to the animals standing beneath, ironically, the Warrior's statue, with her throat tight but she turned when her name was shouted, her lover finding her way through bleeding soldiers.

The Queen in the North accepted the embrace that was given to her with her free arm, holding her dirtied sword at a distance from the girl, and she pressed a kiss into golden curls before pushing Mary away, eyeing the blood that had transferred from her armor to the girl's own and not enchanted by the look of it.

"I don't have time."

"Lana, please-"

"Where's Kit?"

"Looking for me elsewhere," the girl said. "Take a moment to breathe, _please_."

"There isn't time." The brunette grabbed the nearest horse she could, swinging herself over the back of it. "I have a little boy to find."

Mary sneered lightly, hands tight around the reins. "You're not tugging at my heartstrings with that."

Lana smiled and leaned down, fingers tangling into the curls at the nape of the blonde's neck and pulling the girl up onto her tiptoes to close the distance between them, kissing her. She let go but Mary's hand found hers.

"Don't let him get to you," she pleaded softly. "Come back to me."

The brunette nodded and dug her heel into the horse's flank, the animal's hooves clacking on the marble floors as she rode through the sept and back into blinding sunlight, soldiers calling out her name in her wake. Mary turned, a hand at her elbow, and looked into Ser Kit's dark eyes.

"I hate it when you give me the slip," he said.

"I had to see her."

"I know." He moved aside and waved his hand out, motioning her forward and back to where she'd escaped from upstairs. The blonde nodded and the knight led the way, hand on the pommel of his sword and itching to go out and use it, but he'd made a promise to his lord. He glanced back over his shoulder as they went up the stairs, making sure she was following.

The rooms they'd found to use belonged to one of the senior septons, the windows high and wide and the smoke filtering in easily. Kit watched the blonde cross to the bed and sit, head between her hands, and he shifted awkwardly, heart beating as fast as hers. The girl moved to rest her chin in the palm of her hand, fingers laced over her nose as she winced, listening to the sounds of war outside. The morning sun reflected in her worried eyes in golden hues.

"She wouldn't want me saying this," he started. She glanced sideways at him, waiting for him to continue. He shook his head. "Those windows are quite large, Mary. They give quite a nice view on the city. A rounded view. One could easily use a bow to help, as if on a rampart. It's quite common for a keep."

"Are you suggesting I run a rampart by myself?"

"It's only an observation." He looked away. "It's an honor to be keeping you safe, but if you don't mind me saying, I'd like to help her, too."

She tilted her head sideways. "Do you know how to use a bow, Ser Kit?"

"Would you like the short or long?"

He was quick to fetch her instruments, the both of them settling their quivers at their hips for easier access as they took to the windows, staring down at colored military units. Mary didn't wait for Kit to ask, instead cocking back the short, faster, bow to strike a man too close to the hill for her liking. He let out a whistle before pulling back the long bow, reaching a man farther off with a powerful _thwang_ of the elk intestine string.

Mary reached for her fourth arrow. "What color is black and yellow?"

"Black on yellow," he paused to shoot a man down, aiming," Or yellow on black?"

"Black on yellow."

"The Baratheon stag," he replied. "Go ahead. Lana doesn't like stags."

Down below Lana turned, surprised, when the man in front of her fell screaming, a silver arrow in the middle of his chest and ripping through the fabric of the deer on his sigil. She snapped her head up, looking to the sept's windows, and scowled.

The blonde lowered her arms and she reached for another arrow.

OOOoooOOO

The thought of Cordelia ran in the back of the Mudfish's mind as she walked through a back street of King's Landing, occasionally shoving a citizen back into their home and closing the door before them. She hadn't wanted to leave the blonde princess at Baelor's Sept, but had had no choice. She was safer there.

Misty was no good for tactical wars, never had been much use to a unit of soldiers (she'd been alone for so long she couldn't imagine teamwork, much less being a leader), and she'd broken from her ranks quickly after entering the city, heading for the back bones of the capital. She'd talked it out with Lana Stark, and the brunette had quickly ceded to her demands. She would break away from her battalion from Riverrun, leaving it to Luke Karstark to run, and would hit from behind. If a leader went down, the army would fall apart around them. Lana had called her a sneak but she hadn't taken it as an insult.

The queen hadn't meant it as such.

The Freys were pouring out from the Hook and down the Muddy Way to the Guildhall of the Alchemist's and she followed quietly behind, a hundred meters off, lizard lion's maw closed around her sharp gaze and her grip tight on her seven foot spear, her metal meshed net hanging off her belt. She'd found the Lord Freys on their matching horses, once more taking the name of the Twins too literally. Lawrence Frey had managed to find a helmet that threw shadows on his scarred face, gleaming silver and his armor never used, while Spalding had donned his old plates, banged up and older than her. She'd noted that he stayed in the heat of the battle while Lawrence was far at the end of the column, horse tittering as he watched the men of the Green Fork fight.

He, unlike her, had apparently not recovered from the sacking of Riverrun.

And he was, unfortunately for him, too easy to catch up to.

She shadowed for a long time, unwilling to merely run into him, but it didn't take a long time for the man to suddenly be alone. Their soldiers turned a sharp corner, Lawrence taking a moment as screams rung out and bodies fell before he turned it too, but Misty's net caught him around the throat, negative spaces falling around his helmet, and she tugged until he fell off his mount. The animal reared and took off and she pulled him backwards, the man thrashing in his malleable prison. She let him go, snapping his head back when he fell onto his spine, and he looked up at her.

"You-!"

She grimaced back as she reached for her short knife.

"Let me go now, and I'll make sure you live when your Stark is defeated." "Ya said the same to my parents," she replied shortly. "But you found them anyway, didn't ya?"

He began to yell and scream and thrash and she began to panic, hearing men coming back from the street perpendicular to theirs, and suddenly a horse stared down at her, its rider doing the same from a height.

Spalding's eyes hadn't changed since her childhood. She lowered her spear, foot firmly on the net so that Lawrence couldn't run.

He held up his hand and his soldiers paused behind him, waiting. "Misty Tully."

"Lady Misty Tully," the girl growled back. She dragged her foot back a few inches and Lawrence gasped beneath her, net tightening around his neck.

"Let him loose, girl," Spalding said.

"Come get 'im."

"So keen to sign your death warrant." He unsheathed his sword. "Perhaps I should teach you the lesson my brother failed to, all those years ago?"

Misty bent down and tied a knot in Lawrence's net, blue-green eyes fixed on Spalding, before she raised and lifted her spear tip off the ground, removing her weight from the man's cage. "Ya can try."

Spalding sneered, upper lip curled up, and he fell to the ground, a man grabbing at his horse's reins. Lawrence had fallen awkwardly quiet and sat up as best as he could, watching with something akin to a grin on his face.

The Frey reached forward and Misty parried the blow easily with the wood of her spear. She raised the butt of the lance and hit the man square in the chest with it, the sound hollow. He fell back lightly. He struck again and she stepped back, the sword falling short.

She had her height, and the even taller lance, and he was quickly realizing it.

The blade to her spear was curved at the end, resembling a sharp fishing hook, and with it she reached for the man as he fell forward, missing his target yet again, and she pulled him towards her, grabbing at his throat with her free hand. She turned with a grunt and slammed Spalding against a house wall and with nimble fingers pried his mouth open as he groaned against the intrusion, slapping at her sides wildly.

The spear clattered to the ground and she sliced his tongue out with her short knife, blood spurting onto her lizard lion jaw. He began to howl and turn red from pain and his own fluids and she whirled the man around and held him to her chest, arm around his neck as she stared their men down, as he thrashed weakly against her.

"Move and I kill him. I'll do it," she warned. "Tell them to let me go safely, Frey."

"Kill her!" Lawrence shrieked, and the battalion began to run forward. "Kill her!"

The Frey men were moving in quickly, a wall of soldiers waving through the thin street and she took a step back, knife slipping in her bloody grip. At her feet Lawrence was shouting for her head, in her arm Spalding was becoming lethargic and heavy, and she glanced quickly between them and the battalion as she began to walk backwards, breathing heavy.

She dropped Lord Spalding Frey to the ground and raised her arm and threw the knife, the blade embedding itself in Lord Lawrence Frey's skull, between his eyes, and she began to run.

OOOoooOOO

This horse was slower than her poor Dornish warhorse, unused to being driven hard and jittery around weapons and fire, and Lana's heart ached at the thought of the mount she'd raised from infancy now dead in the streets of King's Landing where she'd left it, its leg broken and her sword driven through its heart.

She ran the off white animal clashing with her colors down River Row after smoke, chasing Oliver Bolton's shadows from Flea Bottom to the west of the city, him free of his men and her alone, his armor dark as night and his horse too, always a stain in an otherwise northern white wilderness. She'd fought his soldiers through the morning, killing more than she could ever count and thinking with every silver arrow she pulled out of a man that she couldn't spend much more time fighting his clones. A scout had finally spotted him in King's Landing's slums and she'd ridden after him almost immediately.

He was a street ahead at every moment, turning a corner when she went into the alley he'd previously engulfed himself in, more than once finding a dead end herself and having to backtrack when she took the wrong one, when she thought there could be a short cut. A wild game of cat and mouse and with him winning.

She quickly realized that he was running further and further from the battle, from the crowds, from his men and the Essosi she'd heard of but not seen and from the Vale's more than peculiar army.

She turned into the Street of Steel, pulling on her reins until the horse came to a skittering stop, hooves echoing on the cobblestones. Here it was awkwardly silent, quiet from its usual clamor and din, her nerves on fire and her fingers tight around her saddle. She looked to the end of the street, finding the man's gray warhorse attached to an inn's wooden post, flank heavy with sweat and its eyes rolling with exhaustion.

She descended from her own mount there at the opening to the road, unsheathing Bone Shatter from its scabbard when her boots hit the ground, and she made her way down the row of smithy shops, residual heat blasting at her sides from the stores that only a day before had still been in full swing. Now its citizens were gone, shoppers and forgers alike. The lord of Winterfell took a moment to stare Bolton's horse down, and she noted it too would have to be put down. The thought made her smile.

She pushed into the inn, the place deserted and dark when the door closed shut behind her, hinges creaking. It wasn't a grand place, obviously a stable before becoming a shop. Hay on the floors masked the smell of food and drink left on the tables, dirty rags splayed on the counter. She turned, finding dark eyes settled on her figure from a corner of the room.

Oliver Bolton was splayed in a chair in the shadows, back to the wall and his sword leaning on his thigh, and he'd had the time to find a bowl of something that looked like blackened pistachios and placed it in front of him with a tankard of ale. He smiled at her, lips curled up into a smirk, and she couldn't help the sneer she gave back, the snort that escaped from her throat.

He motioned to the chair across from him and reached beneath the table with his foot to push at it, throwing it back, the wood scraping on the floor with a horrible noise. She took it, sword tip pointed to the ground but her grip not lessening. She watched him drink, beer dripping into his slim beard.

"Whose finger did you send me?"

He cracked into a nut, shaking his head. "Some dead child's." He looked up, disarmingly charming as he'd always been, and smiled. "I love my son, Lana. Our son. Why would I mutilate him?"

"Where is he, Bolton."

Oliver grimaced. "Johnny," he enunciated. "Is home, at the Dreadfort, with his grandmother. Your mother-in-law. Where he should be." He shrugged. "You should visit sometime, he asks for you, poor boy."

"I'm as much his mother as I am your wife," she snapped back.

The man ignored her. "He thinks you don't care, isn't that sad? A boy crying out for his mother but not being able to see her?"

"You stole him from beneath me," she said.

"You'd have snuffed his little life out with a pillow if I'd left him with you, wouldn't you have, Lana?" he asked, looking up. "You didn't want him, even when I gifted him to you. Johnny Bolton is fine with me."

"He's nothing but a bastard, Johnny Snow is fine."

Oliver shifted in his seat, grimacing. "Why do you care, Lana? You never have. You're a shit mother and a shit lord, just like your father was."

She leaned forward as her scowl deepened and her voice became frighteningly quiet. "I'm going to fetch him, Oliver, I'm going to fetch your boy at the Dreadfort and I'm going to kill your mother, I promise you that. She could run to above the Wall and to the Land of Always Winter and I would find her and kill her. I will burn your keep to the ground and burn it again until the ashes that were left the first time around are literal dust in the wind. And I will filet you from groin to mouth and hang you up to dry like the pig you are, ribs split opened and organs on the floor."

Oliver took a moment to react, his cheeks flushing with an emotion she wouldn't dare decipher, and finally he grinned. He too leaned forward. "Let's play a game."

"I don't want to play a game unless it involves me feeding you your balls."

He stood and rounded the table, leaving his sword on his chair, and came up behind her. He rested his weight on her shoulders, his mouth by her ear. "It might, if you win." He stepped back and she turned and stood too, sword scraping along the floor and creating sparks in the hay as she followed him.

"I've missed you, Lana, after all these years," he said. He grabbed for a half empty horn of beer, tipping it back. "Gods you were perfect."

"Forgive me if I don't take your compliments," she replied. "Drunken or not."

"I mean them all, Lana." He turned to her and sighed, leaning back on a table. "I loved you."

"Until you raped me?"

"Especially then." His eyes closed. "You were so tight, so warm."

"When's this game commence?"

He looked up. "You don't know much I needed you then, or how much I need you now. How much our boy needs us."

Lana took the remaining steps forward between them. "Need me so much that you ran like a little child to our mother, Fiona?"

He sighed, sifting his fingers through her hair. "I had to, I had to see you again. One last time before you died." The man smiled lightly when she fastened her hands around his chest plate, thumbs running back and forth on the metal, and he looked down at her sweetly as she gazed up at him the same way.

"Oliver?"

He nodded lightly, delightfully content with how she raked her black eyes over his fit form. She shook her head almost apologetically and he ducked a little to catch her sigh, looking into her face questioningly.

"You left your sword on the table," she said softly. "Your knives on your horse."

He winced lightly, feeling the tip of her own short blade against the tip of his member. Her eyebrows raised.

"Like a pig, Oliver," she echoed. She dug a little farther.

He bled silently, gritting his teeth as she shoved the knife into his lower belly, and she flushed angrily when he didn't scream or yell like she had. She tugged the blade up harshly, hitting organs and bone and she pushed a little farther, higher, until she felt his intestines spilling out and then he gasped out, yelped her name and screamed shortly and she closed her eyes as she cleanly cut through his ribs. But there it stuck and though she tried her best, she couldn't quite move it anymore.

She sighed, annoyed, but let go of the blade, leaving it there as he tried to yell past the pain, as he stood past his legs shaking. She pressed her hands to his middle, hands turning crimson as he died leaning on the table and as she debated whether to pull out his insides or shove them back in.

"So tight," she hashed out, lisp heavy. "So warm."

OOOoooOOO

They'd caught a sneak of Hayden Arryn on a steed much too large for her, cape flying and stained with discolorations that would turn any stomach, had seen Lana Stark ride by and leading an army of wolfmen more terrifying than the trained Essosi from the harbor, but their queen, their hazel eyed lion, was nowhere to be seen. The woman had hidden somewhere.

And Chad Baratheon was not taking it well.

He turned to the Lannister's lover, the Axeman having, in the end, found the sellswords he needed to complete his army of city watch soldiers. Both watched from a high point as Westerosi men marched and died in droves, from both their side and the enemies'. Chad figured they were hiding, the Axeman wanted to hear none of it.

"There's something to be said for a queen," the man'd told him. "And there's something to be said for being alive." The stag had taken his horse and ridden away then, stomach heaving when he thought he'd spotted Ser Patrick Redfort's shadow somewhere in the battalions. _Traitor, the man is a traitor_.

He killed Essosi easily. Though the soldiers were expertly trained, they didn't quite know what to do when a horse reared past them, hooves clacking down onto shields and helmets, the mount armored as much as its rider. He quickly noticed that for every man he killed, two took his place, and he couldn't help but curse at their leader, a boy too small for his breeches even from afar.

He struck a man through the side of his chest plate, where it didn't quite link together, and watched him fall. Beside him, a Baratheon soldier fell, felled from an arrow from above. He let out a high pitched groan as he pushed an Essosi out of the way with the flat of his shield, grabbing him as he tilted backward and turning him to use him as a body shield as another arrow fell from the sky. He was tired of having them rain down sporadically from above, men dying randomly at his sides all morning, the aiming careful and calculated for killing shots. He left the soldier's bodies to be trampled by incoming armies.

He spied a girl as he turned and slashed into an Essosi, the man falling with a short scream. He watched her run through the street, hands at the sides of her dress and hiking it up. He marched through the alley after her, passing through untouched, ignoring and stepping sideways when needing to.

His grip in her blonde hair stopped her running and she yelped tightly as she fell backwards and into him. He tightened his hold on her and hissed into her ear as he dragged her away from the immediate danger. "Yellow and green colors, you must be insane to be running through a troop of Baratheon men, Tyrell."

"I'm not-" She let out a gasp when he pulled. "I'm not a Tyrell! I'm not anything! They're just colors!" She began to cry. "Let me go, _please_."

Her sobs doubled as he took his time to answer, eyes narrowed as he breathed heavily. "Who are you, what are you."

"Maggie Esmeralda of Qarth!" she gasped out. "Of Essos!"

"You're with the warriors."

"Unsullied," she answered. "No, no I'm not I'm-" she took in a shaky breath. "I'm not with them. I was brought against my will as a seer. Please let me go-"

"Shut up!" Chad growled. "Seer?"

"Yes, yes a seer!"

He tightened his grip on her throat. "Where's Misty Tully."

"What?" she asked. "What are you-Misty Tully?"

"The Mudfish, seer," he enunciated. "Where is the Mudfish. Figure it out or I slit your throat."

"Mudfish!" she yelped. "The one with the lizard lion mask! Sept, the sept, on the hill, with the bell towers! The wolf woman too, please, _please_ ," she begged. He let her go and she scrambled away from him, threatening to trip. He watched her turn a corner and disappear and he sneered lightly as he glanced back over his shoulder at Visenya's Hill.

He found the Axeman with his chestplate clean, the man on the ramparts and watching with a critical eye. He looked to Chad, amused.

"They took Baelor's Sept as headquarters."

"Who."

"Lana Stark, Misty Tully. Whoever they're running with. I'm going in."

The Axeman's eyebrow raised. "For your brother?"

The Baratheon lord grimaced but said nothing.

"Do what you want."

He took the men he needed, a group of ten elite that worked well in close quarters, and the streets he needed, back alleys left (so far) unscathed from the war. Citizens ran from the battle but he and his soldiers ignored them as they made their way through River Row. He noticed two horses by their lonesome selves but ignored them, passing by on his own.

From the top of the sept arrows flew but he ignored those too, merely glancing up to make sure he wasn't skewered before he arrived to Baelor's steps. From there his soldiers broke into the monument, murdering anyone who crossed their path, quickly and efficiently.

But inside he did not find Misty Tully, or Lana Stark, only cowering servants to the New Gods and a blonde that was trying so hard to hide behind the silent sisters and the statue of the Mother.

He dragged Cordelia out from behind the sculpture by her hair, pulling her to the middle of the domed hall and tugged her head backwards until she could do nothing but show her throat to him, gasping.

"Where is she?" he yelled. " _Where's the Mudfish_?" She didn't answer, mismatched eyes boring holes into him, her fingers tight around his own. He shook her violently. "Goddammit girl, don't die for someone who doesn't give two shits about you, where is she? Tell me!" He raised her until she stood on her own feet, glaring back at him.

She reached up and slapped him, angle from up to down, nails scratching at the side of his face until it bled, and he turned his face with the blow of the smack. It echoed throughout the room.

"You little bitch," he murmured. She began to stammer but he pulled her down and she yelped when she hit the floor, ribs cracking onto it. She turned onto her stomach and struggled to stand, struggled to claw away, but he caught her with a strong hand to her thigh and he pulled her back. The palms of her hands squeaked across the marble.

He flipped her onto her back and straddled her, fighting with her until he had her wrists flat on the floor. "You're going to regret doing that." He slammed into her stomach with a closed fist when she tried to rise and she fell back, crying.

He reached to his belt, pulling out a dagger. "I always hated those eyes of yours. It's unnatural, just like Hank had said." He pressed the tip of the blade to her cheek. "He'd have found joy in killing you if he hadn't died. But he is dead. So I'll take the pleasure instead."

She screamed, shaking beneath him but unable to throw him off, when he dug the knife into her black eye, twisting until she was pouring crimson over her face and his hands and her hair. He popped it out easily with a sickening sound and watched it roll away on the marble floor, his free hand keeping Cordelia down. He bent the blade into her throat.

" _Baratheon_!"

He turned, finding Misty walking towards him. The wild blonde raised her arm back, lance in hand, and threw it as hard as she could, foot twisting cleanly on the marble floor and into the throw.

The tip went through his throat, his neck, six inches going in and six inches coming out the other side, and he breathed out blood, the liquid bubbling around the mortal wound, before falling to his side.

She ran and fell to her knees, sliding into the red coating and dripping onto the marble beneath, and fell to Cordelia's side, wrapping her arms around the woman's back and raising her to hold her, back to front. She pushed strands of blonde hair turned crimson from the older blonde's face, crying as she faced the woman's gaze, a blue eye and a missing eye. The Mudfish pressed her fingers Cordelia's cheek gingerly, hands shaking as she reached down to tear at the woman's dress and to fashion a bandage as the Tyrell girl bled and bled. "Stay with me, Delia, Stay with me, it's fine." She bit back a sob when Cordelia grunted back, a high pitched whine falling out of her throat at the pain, body thrashing in Misty's grip. The wild blonde began to fasten the cloth around the woman's head, tightening it and watching as the white cotton over her eye instantly turned red. "You'll be just fine." She raised her head, yelling out for help as she brought Cordelia closer to her.

She could have sworn the sept was crawling with men before. Now they were horrifyingly alone as Chad's body watched them from feet away. No one answered her pleas.

"M-"

"No, no, don't speak it's-" Misty shook her head wildly, tugging Cordelia up her chest as the woman began to fall against her. "I should have been here, seven hells. Keep your strength, darlin', keep your strength. Everythin'll be fine, I promise ya."

Cordelia pawed at her blindly, crying from one eye and bleeding from the other, her fingers scratching at Misty's mail and skin and armor. "Mama-"

"No, baby no," Misty cried back. "It's me, it's me." She smoothed the woman's hair, lips to the blonde's temple. "Please stay with me, please." She thought of the irony of delusional pain, thought of asking the older blonde how many fingers she was holding up. Hallucinations could lead to death if the wound wasn't taken care of. Cordelia's grip on her wrist tightened and she shook her head, voice trembling. "You're fine, darlin'. We'll get Mary and she'll fix ya up and we'll go home to Riverrun and we'll swim and we'll eat so much fish in a day you'll hate it for the rest of your life. You're so strong, baby, just stay with me. Mary's comin'."

"But Misty," Cordelia rasped as she succumbed to pain. She smiled as if she was thinking of the funniest thing in the world, grin wide through her hazy mind. Her fingers traced over Misty's jaw before her hand fell back to her chest, limp with exhaustion. "I'll never see Riverrun now."

OOOoooOOO

"We're losing, Lady Hayden. We can't hold the gate anymore. The Targaryens have disbanded and the Starks are too far and the Unsullied are moving too fast," Ser Patrick gasped out, winded. "Your dead men aren't rising anymore. We can't fight, we'll lose."

The lady of the Vale turned on her horse, once silver armor turned black with dried blood. "I'm not giving up, not after all this, Ser Patrick!" He grimaced at her from below her, horse long gone and grooves cut deep into his face, slashes that would scar. _If he lives past the day_ , Hayden mused. "Then we advance for the Keep. Let us finish this. Fetch the minotaur!"

They took the remaining dead of the Vale, most of the foul smelling men limping as best as they could, groaning along, and used them as body shields (whatever soldiers of theirs that had been alive were not anymore). Hayden rode a horse she'd found after hers had died, arrow through the flank and jagging in deep, and Ser Patrick opened the way. Whatever men they met he struck down as they made their way to the Red Keep from Flea Bottom, the sun slowly beginning to reach its breaking point as it began to fall in the afternoon sky.

Marie's creature stomped through a nearby alley, fur covered in blood and guts, snouts wide as it breathed, and it pushed walking corpses aside as it joined Hayden's makeshift guard. The girl's horse reared back, frightened, but she pulled it down into submission, grimacing when Ser Patrick glanced back at her. Marie was not following it.

Though her cape was dotted with blood and things she didn't want to over-analyze, her crown was gleaming like it had that morning at dawn, polished to a silvery shine that reflected the setting sun as they moved through the slum's narrow streets to Aegon's High Hill. She'd wanted, before, that her sword did the same, but the latter was off colored now, with no time to be cleaned. She hoped that it brought fear upon the others despite her small stature, her hollow, fragile, bones. She wanted to soar with them.

And she would.

The Axeman stood before the keep's Great Hall's doors, leaning on his sword unapologetically, Tyrell and Lannister men at his back. Hayden's horse snorted into his face.

"Move," she demanded.

He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips despite him.

She groaned out and flicked her wrist and the men of the Vale yelped out as they ran forward, jumping the steps and attacking the breathing soldiers. Hayden dropped off her horse and let Ser Patrick lead the way through the assassination happening all around her.

When the Axeman surged forward to run his sword through her, the Minotaur's backhand hit him square in the jaw, sending him flying into the hall's door. The man crumpled to the floor. Hayden opened the hall's doors, kicking him aside, and the remaining men shadowed her as she strode through the high-ceilinged room.

It was silent here, the room empty and her and their steps echoing off the floors. The Lannister lions, holding roses and with crowns to their brows, hung off the walls in woven tapestries, the things twenty feel long and placed in between dragon skulls that the previous owners of the Red Keep, the Targaryens, had put up. Fiona hadn't apparently wanted to redecorate, the creatures threatening enough to be her own now.

The woman herself sat on the iron throne, ten feet high in the air and barbed swords at her back and her sides, beneath her, as she sat cautiously. She was entirely alone, in an armor she'd only used once or twice before, her longsword by her knee as she leaned on it, the pommel a wilting rose. The burnt swords didn't reflect light like her crown did.

"You've come for me," she said. "I hadn't expected it to be you, though."

"This can be done easily, Lady Fiona," Hayden replied. "Simply step down from your throne. You will be treated well."

"My husband used to say the same to his enemies before he killed them," the blonde murmured.

Ser Patrick stepped forward. "Step down, Lady Fiona."

"I am your _queen_." The lion stood to her full height and began going down the throne's sword-shaped stairs. "Not any less. Speak to me as so." She raked her hazel eyes over the shorter brunette, her man-at-arms, the creature at their side, and the dead men behind them, her grimace widening. "Not any less," she repeated.

"You've lost," Hayden said. "Your men are dead or have deserted. I am not your husband. Stand down."

"No song will be written for you, Arryn," Fiona murmured. "There is no bravery to marching to my hall and demanding I kick my crown across the floor to you. There is no bravery in joining so many others in breaking me down all at once. You and the Stark woman and Ben Greyjoy. That man from Essos, whoever he is. Nice timing, isn't it? That he'd show up like this? I heard he'd left his ships farther up the bay." She turned on herself, scowling. "You've all disbanded from the throne after all I and my husband had done for you. You are alive today, Arryn, because I allowed you to be, and all you have to show for your gratitude is this? You've disbanded and you dare call yourself queen? They all dare call themselves queen? Queen in the North and Queen of the Riverlands and Queen of the Vale. Even that idiot Tully has started calling my daughter the Queen of the Reach." She lifted her sword off the floor. "The Reach is mine. _Westeros is mine_!"

"Not anymore, Fiona," Hayden murmured. "Westeros is for the young." She flicked her head, chin motioning out, and Marie's creature rumbled past her, stepping up the short steps at the end of the Great Hall.

Fiona's eyes bulged when the minotaur grabbed her by her throat, the creature squeezing tight as it lifted her off the floor with one arm. She grappled at it, fingers scratching at its hands, but it would not let go, and Hayden looked away as the woman began to gargle for air.

Hayden gasped when she was pushed sideways, tripping on her own feet and falling to the floor, knees taking the brunt of the impact. She looked up, alarmed, and watched as the Axeman ran past her and jumped on the minotaur's back, screaming inhumanly. He stabbed the creature's skin with a short knife, plunging the blade over and over.

The minotaur howled and the queen fell to the floor, gasping for breath, and the creature grasped for its back, moving wildly as it tried to throw the woman's lover off it.

The Axeman finally slipped off, front soaked with blood and hands unable to hold on anymore to wet fur, and he fell to the floor, watching with wide eyes as the minotaur turned and stared him down, eyes full of rage. It grabbed the man and shortly raised him up before smashing him back into the marble continuously, roaring.

The stone began to crack beneath the Axeman's broken body.

The minotaur flung him across the hall, and this time the man would not stand back up.

It reached for Fiona again, the woman having failed to raise, and it squeezed her throat until her heart had stopped beating.

OOOoooOOO

The girl's, a tiny brunette thing, fingers faltered on the crown on the floor when he burst through the hall's doors, Unsullied at his back filtering through the open double doors and moving out from his sides to attack the brunette's men. They were captured easily and he smiled as he strolled through the room, his warriors now waiting for his next orders, swords to exposed throats. Wooden Doll grabbed onto the girl and held her the same way, blade to her neck and digging in deep as the minotaur roared down on the floor, soldiers putting him into submission beneath nets and knees.

Dandy watched the creature, aloof as he mulled over his thoughts, and finally he shrugged. "Kill it."

It was stabbed through the heart and after it painfully twitched, groaning, it died, eyes open wide as Dandy watched, fascinated.

He turned to the brunette. "Who are you, putting your hands on my crown?"

She quickly glanced at the throne, at the man in the same position as hers a few feet away, and she gritted her teeth before settling her gaze back on the man. "Hayden Arryn, queen of the Vale and the Mountains of the Moon."

Dandy's eyebrows raised. "A queen?"

"One of them, yes," Hayden replied.

"Who the fuck are _you_?"

The Essosi turned to her man-at-arms. "Dandy Mott of Qarth, your new king."

"Like hell you are." Ser Patrick spit at his feet and the Unsullied holding him dug his short sword deeper into his throat, drawing a line of blood.

"Be nice, I might use you!" Dandy said cheerfully. He reached for the crown on the floor, sparing a disgusted look to the blonde turning blue a few feet away, and raised it up to his head, trying it on as he hummed. He used a shield as mirror as he grinned. "Yes, I do like this. This will fit quite nicely." He looked to his men, speaking to no one in particular. "Dandy the First has a nice ring to it, no?"

"I do wish more of you Westerosi were here to see me ascend the throne," Dandy admitted. "Wished they would see me pick my sigil. I should perhaps have thought of it before." He looked to Hayden, pouting lightly. "I would have asked my seer for advice but she seems to have gotten lost somewhere. What would you pick as your symbol if you had to?"

"I don't have to," she snapped back. "I was born into mine. I was born of Westeros."

"Me at the helm of your kingdoms can do nothing but good. See how easily you were taken over." He cocked his head to the side. "I do have you to thank though, you and your splintered nations. It won't be so fragmented beneath me."

He walked to the throne, eyes scanning it as he fixed the crown on his head, placing it properly on his hair. "Here will be my words." He glanced back over his shoulder, smiling giddily, voice mockingly childish. " _I Win, You Lose_."

He began to sit on the throne, inches away from placing his backside on the melted swords, but he looked up and froze, lightly bewildered, when the Great Hall's doors opened and a woman stepped through, shouldered by a wild haired blonde and a tousled brown locked knight, each more bloodied than the next.

He stood straight and stepped down a step. "Who are you? Do you come to see me crowned king of your kingdoms?"

The brunette in the lead grimaced as she walked across the hall. None of the Unsullied moved to stop her, and Dandy watched her, puzzled and fascinated, as she marched to stand before him. He wondered if the black blood down her front, the sticky bits of guts and the broken bones, were hers. She unsheathed her longsword as she walked and climbed up the stairs, and with a slick move she drove it into his lower stomach, the hilt hitting his armor with a dull ting, feet of Valyrian steel coming out of his back. He gurgled against her and she pushed him off her body, off her blade, and he fell to the floor, crown slipping off his head and running in circles on the marble. She stopped it with the flat of her foot and reached down and picked it up.

And Lana Stark sat upon the iron throne.


End file.
